


I felt your agony, let me feel your ecstasy

by Corvicula1979



Series: Always in My Head 'Verse [1]
Category: X-Men (Movies), X-Men: First Class (2011) - Fandom
Genre: Ableism, Behind the Scenes, Charles' abusive childhood, Drunk Chess is the best chess, Fix-It of Sorts, Holocaust, Internalized Homophobia, M/M, Missing Scene, Telepathic Sex, Telepathy, brief mention of past Erik/Magda, internalized ableism
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-03-30
Updated: 2016-04-15
Packaged: 2018-03-20 09:21:46
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 24
Words: 44,080
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3645069
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Corvicula1979/pseuds/Corvicula1979
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Your basic Cherik shipping fic. Partial fix-it of the beach. Basically follows the plot of the movie with 'extra scenes' or extra dialog, and only starts to diverge in Cuba.</p>
<p>This is very much a work in progress, but I figured I may as well start posting chapters as they become ready. My writing process is very haphazard, so don't expect updates to be on any sort of schedule.</p>
<p>Characters and tags will be updated as needed as chapters are added.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Not Alone

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: Characters, the plot of First Class, and the considerable stretches of dialogue I'm using belong to Fox/Marvel, not me. 
> 
> General trigger warnings for several references to Charles' abusive childhood (which is, I believe, canonical to the comics), and reference to the Holocaust and Erik's personal traumatic experiences in the camps and at the hands of Schmidt/Shaw (which is kind of a given, in this fandom). None of it is terribly graphic, but it is there.  
> Also homophobia, of course; so far as I've written it's nothing like as harsh as it would be to actually period typical. Mostly internalized. 
> 
> General notes: Italics are used for emphasis, for words in another language, or for quotations, I think context makes it obvious.  
> Telepathic speech is in square parentheses [like this.]
> 
> Point of View is bouncing back and forth between Charles and Erik *all the time* - if it's too hard to follow, let me know.
> 
> Also, un-beta'ed. Feel free to let me know if you catch any errors, rogue present tense, or if all the he/him/his aren't clear in context, things like that. And also feel free to Britpick Charles, and nitpick if I'm not being era-appropriate with word choice, etc.
> 
> I read Niphrehdil's ["Dark Flowers"](http://archiveofourown.org/works/2214408) before I started writing this fic, and it influenced my story in many ways. Their ideas about how telepathy works (chapter 13) I cribbed basically whole for my chapter 2. The way they have each other lightly connected in the back of each other's heads is definitely influenced by this fic (couldn't really reference a particular place, it's throughout much of the fic), and there are more influences that I will mention in the notes of upcoming chapters as I post them.

            If Erik was being honest with himself, it began the very moment they met. The touch of another mind on his, kind and gentle, great strength held in check. It was a novel sensation to say the least. The first time, when Charles saved him from drowning, he couldn't help but find it foreign and intrusive. And yet, at the same time, it was a surprisingly sweet and comforting feeling as well.

            “You're not alone. Erik, you're _not_ alone,” Charles said, and Erik knew it was true, because he'd known, for a few moments, that he didn't even have to be alone in his own head. It defied a truth he – and nearly everyone else alive – took for granted.

 

*

            Charles knew the first seeds were planted in that first instant, when he dove into the ocean to save the man, at that moment still a stranger. He had to make mental contact to soothe him, to convince him to let go of that tenacious hold on the submarine, lest he drown. He made a connection to speak to him telepathically and he was flooded by memories, thoughts, motivations, emotions. The white-hot rage, the focused need for vengeance, a torrent of painful memories from his childhood and the emotions that were tangled with them, all the reasons he had to hate the man in the boat: the man Charles knew as Sebastian Shaw, but Erik (his name was Erik) identified as Schmidt. The rush of thoughts, accompanied by such terrible pain and grief and anger, was almost overwhelming, and Charles only barely managed to keep his concentration. But behind all those unpleasant emotions, there was something ... bright. Almost too bright to look at. And something good, deep in the core of him.

            Once they were above the surface, the other mutant – for that was what Erik was: even without confirmation from his mind, the way he'd manipulated the metal in the anchor and its chain made it quite obvious – demanded to know who he was and how he could be in his head. “You have your tricks,” Charles told him, “I have mine. I'm like you.”

            “I thought I was alone,” Erik replied.

            God, to think the man had lived his whole life so far without knowing other mutants even _existed_ until tonight ...

            “You're not alone. Erik, you're _not_ alone,” Charles said, and even with his mind shielded again, he could feel the emotions rolling off the other man: amazement, relief, joy. And that was the moment when Charles decided he wanted to bring as much happiness as he could into his new acquaintance's life, which so far had been characterized by pain.

 

*

            Charles, Erik found out, was working with the CIA, who had an interest in Schmidt, now calling himself Sebastian Shaw. Over the next day, he found himself meeting Charles' associates, both mutant and human, both G-men and civilians. But in all this, Charles kept talking to him, looking to him, constantly interacting with him ... seeming to enjoy his company. And when was the last time Erik had enjoyed human warmth, let alone such a constant, glowing hearth of it? And Charles' reaction to young McCoy showed that his warm, caring friendliness was part of the man's personality, not just especially directed at him.

            But he couldn't forget his mission, his crusade, which was to hunt down Schmidt. And so, when they reached the CIA base, he went looking for whatever information the Agency had on him. And when Erik found the files, he was determined to take them and leave and go his own way, as he always had done before, new friend or no.

*

            Charles could tell that Erik was a lone wolf, one who had always acted on his own, and he knew it was only a matter of time before he would decide he had gotten what benefit he could from the situation, and leave, to continue his crusade alone. Without intruding, he kept a mental 'eye' on the older man, to keep track of his whereabouts. It was no surprise that night when he sensed Erik getting ready to leave the compound. He hurried to follow, and waited for him outside the front doors.

            “From what I know about you, I am surprised you managed to stay this long,” he called out.

            Erik turned to reply, not surprised at all to see him. “What do you know about me?”

            A touch of hyperbole. “Everything.” Not quite true, but he'd learned more in a few moments of mental contact in the water that he had ever expected or bargained for.

*

            “Everything,” Charles told him.

            Everything? Could he really have seen _everything_ in his mind with such a short contact? The notion was alarming. He snapped at Charles without thinking, “Then you know to stay out of my head.” And he instantly regretted it, remembering how delightful that brief connection had felt. Still: what exactly was the extent of Charles' powers? What _could_ he do to Erik's mind? How much could he trust the seemingly-innocent young man? He turned and kept walking.

            Charles spoke again and he stopped. “I am sorry Erik, but I've seen what Shaw did to you. I felt your agony. I can help you.” Sorry for how much he'd intruded before, perhaps?

            “I don't need your help,” Erik replied. He never counted on others to help. The only one he could safely rely on was himself.

            “Don't kid yourself, you needed my help last night, it's not just me you are walking away from. Here you have the chance to be part of something much bigger than yourself. I won't stop you leaving. I could, but I won't.” Charles turned and walked away, heading back indoors, then added, “Shaw's got friends. You could do with some.”

            I could, but I won't. It was that sentence, oddly enough, which made Erik trust him. He could feel that it was sincere, and it meant that, no matter how terrifying and manipulative his power was, he was not the sort to abuse it. And ... the offer of help felt genuine. It was not without strings attached – he’d be working with the CIA, of all things. Nor was it selfless – the Agency had their own reasons to be interested in Shaw, and for whatever reason, Charles had aligned himself with them in this matter. Nevertheless, he got the feeling that Charles was offering mainly because he sincerely _wanted_ to help, to help _him_. He couldn’t fathom why his new acquaintance was determined to be involved in his personal quest, but did that really matter? No, he might not need friends to take down Shaw, but he would gladly use them. And despite an acquaintance of just one day, Charles had started to get under his skin. Deep down, he didn't really want to walk away from him. By the time he'd gathered his thoughts, Charles had disappeared inside. There was much more that needed to be said between them, but he wasn't going to search Charles out; it was late, and he could sleep on it.

*

            Charles had gone to bed not knowing what Erik would decide. He hoped that his words had been convincing, but Erik also seemed like a man who did not easily change his mind. He knew he would miss him, if he chose to leave.

            In the morning, the Agent running the facility explained him how Hank had modified their radar installation to amplify his telepathy, and suggested using it to search for more mutants for their division. He wondered to himself, did he really want to become part of a team run by the regular humans in the CIA?

            A familiar voice spoke up from the doorway. “And what if they don't want to be found by you?”

            He tried not to betray too much of his delight in front of the agent, but when he turned to Erik, he couldn't help but smile broadly. “Erik! You decided to stay.”

            Even though Charles was shielded, Erik managed to think at him loudly enough to get his attention; taking that as invitation, he made a shallow link between them.

            [Good morning, Charles.]

*

            One thing Erik had decided was that he didn't want to shut Charles out of his head. In fact, he'd rather liked the sensation of Charles' mental 'touch.' In the morning, he went looking for him, intending to apologize for ... well, for saying the exact opposite. When he found Charles he was in conversation with their patron G-man. Hank McCoy evidently had turned their radar sphere into a device to amplify Charles' telepathic powers, and the agent wanted Charles to use it to find other mutants and bring them into his little mutant division. Erik knew the normals in the CIA would want to be the ones in control.

            He jumped into the conversation. “And what if they don't want to be found by you?”

            Neither man had seen him standing in the doorway. When Charles turned to face him, his smile was unmistakeable: he was _very_ glad that Erik hadn't left. “Erik! You decided to stay.”

            Now was as good a time as any, he supposed. He _thought_ as loud as he could, hoping it would work somehow: [Good morning, Charles.] It did work, he felt Charles' presence in his mind, but he didn't 'say' anything in return; Erik only felt a sense of surprise coming from him. He spoke aloud again, to the agent and Charles both, “If a new species is being discovered, it should be by its own kind. Charles and I find the mutants. No suits.” And to Charles, in his mind: [Much to discuss, after.]

            The agent argued against the idea, unsurprisingly. Gratifyingly, though, Charles agreed.


	2. I liked you in my head / I've seen far worse than your memories

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Erik has an unexpected request.  
> We meet Cerebro.  
> The very first chess game.

            Before they headed out to see Hank's newest marvel, Charles deemed they could take a few minutes, and drew Erik aside for private conversation. “I'm so glad you're staying with us,” he began.

            “I'm glad to see you're not marching to the CIA's orders,” Erik replied. He could tell it wasn't meant as an insult, and didn’t take it as one. Charles himself hadn't been comfortable about being entirely under the agency's control, either.

            “Can I ask what changed your mind?”

            “When you said, 'I could, but I won't.' And I'll be glad to accept your help.”

            “It sounded like you were offering yours, back there.”

            “I was. I'll have more friends to help me with Shaw. Besides, it sounds diverting.”

            “So, the offer is not _entirely_ lacking in self-interest,” Charles said with a smile.

            Erik's smile in return was wide and dazzling, and Charles realized it was the first time he'd seen it. “Never did claim to be selfless.”

            “Somehow I don't think that's what you wanted to discuss.”

            “No, it wasn't. I meant to apologize for snapping at you last night. I don't really need you to stay out of my head.”

            “It's quite alright, Erik, you're not obliged to let me in. You're entitled to your privacy in this as in other parts of life. If anything, I owe _you_ an apology. I picked up far more than I expected, the first time. I can't undo that, but it was unkind to use that against you.”

            “No, you don't understand. I'm sorry I said it because I said in anger and I didn't mean it. Charles, I _liked_ you in my head. I'd invite you to stay, except there's a lot in here that you wouldn't want to see.”

            “I've seen some of the worst of your memories, and they're not so terrible. I've seen far worse.”

            “I find that hard to believe.”

            “That's because you don't know how my gift works. When I speak in someone's mind like I did with you, it's a matter of choosing to reach out to a particular mind. But in general, it's the exact opposite. If I don't actively shield my mind and block things out, I sense everyone and everything around me. _Everything._ When I was a child I didn't have the control I do now. And even now, sometimes the shields falter, or a particularly strong emotion slips through them.” He paused to let the new knowledge sink in. “Try to imagine accidentally touching the mind of a rapist in the act, for instance.”

            Erik cringed. “That actually happened, didn't it?”

            “I threw up as soon as I was back to myself,” Charles admitted. “And then there's my family.” He didn’t elaborate, and Erik didn’t push. “I lived with that when I didn't have full control of my gift. I've seen much worse than your thoughts and memories, in minds much darker than yours.”

            “I'd love for you to show me how it feels. To sense all those minds around you, I mean.”

            Charles was surprised at Erik's eagerness. The handful of people who knew of his gift recognized how it could be useful but were afraid of it at the same time, and this was how it had always been. It was not unreasonable to be afraid of the power it gave him and of how he might use it. Once someone knew him better as a person, though, they ought to know he would never abuse his telepathy in the ways they feared, but even in Raven, his sister and oldest friend, the apprehension never entirely went away. And here was Erik, who had known him less than two days; he had the same misgivings at first but when Charles told him he wouldn't misuse his gift _on him_ , he trusted his word and lost his fear. And now Erik was all curiosity and acceptance: wanting to explore and play with his gift, like he was a child and Charles' powers and what he could share were the best birthday present ever. It was an entirely new experience for him: surprising and unexpectedly touching. As for Erik's request ... “It should be possible to do, but trying it now would likely overwhelm you. You need to learn to walk before you can run, if you'll forgive the cliché. We should start with simpler things.” He paused, considering; the whole thing had come out of nowhere and blindsided him. “That is, if you're really sure you want me hanging about in your head.”

            “Of course I'm sure!” Erik retorted, then something occurred to him and his face fell, a bit. “ ... Unless you don't want to.”

            Ouch. “It's not that at all,” he reassured him. “I'm just surprised. No-one has ever asked me before, and invited me in. The thing is, it would be rather ... intimate. Maybe more than you'd be comfortable with, with a very new friend?”

            “I still want it, if you do.”

            Charles nodded, and opened a shallow connection again. [So, you like me here in your head, Erik?]

            [Yes. I like how your presence feels. You're ... sweet and cozy,] Erik sent.

            Charles inwardly cursed his pale complexion as he felt himself blush at the compliment. [Underneath your surface thoughts, you feel like a very bright light. I'm glad to be in here, I like how you feel, too. It's oddly irresistible.]

            Charles could feel the same emotions coming from Erik as he'd felt a moment before: a bubbling of pleased/surprised/shyly embarrassed. And he blushed as well. He recovered fast, and sent, [I guess you might say I have a magnetic personality,] along with a sense of internal laughter.

            Charles groaned aloud at the terrible joke, and decided to change the subject. [The link I've made right now is shallow. If we stay connected like this, I'll hear the thoughts you direct at me, and I'll sense your emotional state. I should warn you there's also a chance I'll pick up whatever you happen to be thinking to yourself, whether or not you intend me to hear it. So, I hope you don’t have dirty thoughts about my sister ...]

            [Don't worry about that. She's too young for my taste.]

            [She's older than she looks, but that's reassuring. And likewise, you will be picking up my feelings as well, and maybe thoughts I wasn't meaning to share.]

            [Anything embarrassing I hear, I will save for maximum humiliation later,] Erik teased.

            [That's playing dirty,] Charles replied, laughing. [So, shall we go see the boy genius' latest wonder?]

            [But of course.]

*

            They made their way across the lawn to the radar installation, never dropping their telepathic link. Raven was waiting for them outside, and the three of them climbed inside together.

            “I, uh ... call it Cerebro,” Hank said by way of introduction to his creation.

            [Spanish for brain,] Erik sent, and Charles chuckled as Hank said essentially the same thing a moment later. Charles listened intently as Hank described how his invention worked, but Erik only half-heard what the young man was saying, transfixed by the clear helmet filled with wires and electrodes. It was something out of the worst kind of medical experiment nightmare, and he was afraid for his friend. When Charles finally stepped under the contraption and fitted the helmet over his head, Erik tried to cover his unease with humour. “What an adorable lab rat you make, Charles,” he said aloud, and thought, [You don't need to do this.]

            “Don't spoil this for me, Erik,” the other man responded. [It's alright, Erik. I'll be fine. I'm not afraid.]

            “Oh, I've been a lab rat, I know one when I see one.” The memories of all the things Schmidt/Shaw had done to him to draw out, stabilize and strengthen his gift bubbled into his awareness unbidden, and he knew Charles could see them too. [But I am.]

            He felt a burst of sympathy and reassurance from Charles. [It isn't the same. I don't know what will happen, but I'm doing this by my own choice. I trust Hank.] Erik tried hard to dampen his apprehension.

            Hank, standing right beside Charles, asked him, “Are you sure we can't shave your head?"

            “Don't touch my hair,” Charles replied.

            [Hell no, he can't touch your hair. It's too pretty to be sacrificed for science,] he thought to Charles. In reply, a sense of amused/pleased.

            [I should drop our link before I begin. I imagine this will feel ... bracing, even for me.]

            Erik gave a brief nod of acknowledgement, and found himself alone in his mind again. He was a spectator to this process, now, and he kept his eyes firmly on Charles' face. Not on the computer banks, not on Hank, not on Raven, and definitely not on the contraption around his friend's head. When the machine was fully activated, Charles flinched and yelled ... in pain, it seemed. It took every ounce of Erik's self-control not to rush in and intervene, to _stop_ this. But soon enough Charles settled down, first to a wincing gasp, and then to a determined, if still strained, expression. When he finally found a target, and the printers whirred to life with a set of coordinates, proving that the setup worked, he smiled in triumph. And then he located another, and another ... There was a substantial list of locations when Charles declared he'd had enough, and they powered down the machine. As soon as Charles was free, he stepped close to Erik and laid a reassuring hand on his shoulder. Erik realized that his jaw had been clenched and his entire body had been tense the whole time he'd been watching, holding himself back, and that simple touch made the tension flow out of him in a rush. Charles looked up at him and didn't even need to ask anything aloud, he merely raised an eyebrow meaningfully, Erik nodded in assent, and Charles' warm presence was back in his head, glowing with excitement but hazy with fatigue. The others began to leave the installation, and they followed.

            [Are you alright?] Erik asked. [You looked like you were in pain.]

            [It hurt at first, but I'm fine now. I stretched myself far beyond what I'm used to, though, and I'm tired. It's like muscle fatigue in my brain.]

            [Do you suppose the suits will let you take it easy for the rest of the day?]

            [I guess we'll find out. Let's not head out looking for our mutants until tomorrow, I think.]

Raven, walking in front of them, stopped and looked over her shoulder at them. “You're awfully quiet, Charles,” she said, and added with a smile, “for you.”

            [Should we tell her?] Charles asked, implying that he didn't mind either way.

            “Charles and I were just having a nice conversation,” Erik told Raven with a self-satisfied grin.

            She looked puzzled for a moment before she figured it out. “ _Oh_. Something you'd like to share with the class, boys?”

            [Play along with it,] Charles told him before saying to Raven, “Erik was just ... admiring the view.”

            [Weren't you just warning me earlier not to think such things?] he replied with amusement. “Mm, what's that line? Love to watch her walk away?”

            Raven gave them a disgusted snort and a glare, and left them behind without a word.

 *

            Drained as he was after his first session with Cerebro, Charles was immensely grateful to Erik for looking after him. He sensed a need that Charles couldn't identify in his exhaustion, let alone articulate, and sought out a decent lunch for them both. He felt considerably revived after his meal and wanted to spend his afternoon relaxing and socializing with his new friend. He tentatively suggested a game of chess and was pleased when he felt Erik's delight at the idea. It seemed he'd found a fellow enthusiast. They set up in one of the building's common lounge areas, and that afternoon they played the first of many, many games together. Before they began Charles let go of their mental connection, lest he inadvertently catch a glimpse of Erik's strategies in his mind.

                His fatigue caught up with him partway through their game, and he knew he would lose because his concentration was shot, so he conceded the game rather than letting it drag out. When Charles stretched out on a couch to nap, Erik left his presence only long enough to find something to read. He stayed with him, watching over him while he rested, and Charles needed no telepathy to sense his protectiveness and his concern.


	3. More tea? / You're safe now, my friend.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which we meet Angel, and Charles is a brat.  
> A nightmare, and Charles is a sweetheart.

            There were worse places they could be starting their mutant recruiting drive than a gentleman's club, Erik thought. Pretty women, a private room ... the drinks were pretty good too, if scandalously overpriced. Their target was a young woman who worked there as a dancer, and they tipped her generously to get a ‘private dance’, as a pretext to speak to her privately. She introduced herself as 'Angel.'

            “You cats know it's double for both, right?” she said.

            They had yet to reveal to her why they were really here, of course. “Mmm.” Charles began, “No, that won't be necessary. Although, I'm sure it would be magical.” [I think I'll let you have the good line, Erik.]

            He took up where Charles left off. “We were thinking more, we'll show you ours if you show us yours.” Charles was positively leering at her.

            She was unimpressed but not surprised; no doubt, she heard similar propositions all the time. “Baby, that is _not_ the way it works around here.”

            Time for the reveal, then. And speaking of overpriced alcohol ... He lifted the champagne cooler with a snap of his fingers, and offered a refill to Charles. “More tea, vicar?” Angel looked startled.

            “Don't mind if I do.” Charles sipped his drink and raised a finger to his temple as he often did when he used his powers. The young dancer chuckled. “Good, isn't it?” Charles asked her.

            For the first time since they met, he was on the outside of one of Charles' jokes, it seemed. “What?”

            “How did you do that?” she asked.

            [I made her see something a little different than what's in front of her,] he answered Erik, and showed him an image of the two of them sitting side by side on the red bed, as they were ... but with Erik dressed in a blue sequined dress and red wig. “You've never looked more beautiful, darling,” he added ... aloud, the brat.

            Turnabout was fair. He did his best to imagine Charles in a dress - something classier than the one Charles had pictured him in, and sent that image back to his friend. [Honestly, Charles, I don't have the right figure for a dress. You, on the other hand ...]

            Charles laughed aloud.

            Having seen evidence of both of their gifts, Angel said, “My turn.” She reached behind her to unclasp her top and the marks they had taken for elaborate tattoos unfolded from her skin into large dragonfly-type wings; she hovered off the floor, proving they were as functional as they were beautiful.

            He and Charles looked at each other. [Lovely, aren't they?] he asked.

            [Fantastic.] They turned back to face Angel, and Charles asked her, “How would you like a job where you get to keep your clothes on?”    

*

           Charles had brought a portable chess set with him, of course. Back at their motel, they'd played until they were tired enough to call it a night. Erik, somewhat to his surprise, hadn't wanted him to sever their mental connection. “I'm much more interested in your company than I am in winning,” he'd explained. So he kept the link open, and didn't think to close it before he went to sleep.

            He woke up in the small hours of the night on the edge of terror, the dream horrors already receding. As he pulled himself into awareness, he heard the sounds of thrashing limbs in the other bed, and realized it was Erik's nightmare that had frightened and woken him. They had still been connected, even in sleep; and yes, there it was, there was Erik's fear roiling in the back of his mind, although strangely muffled by sleep. He extricated himself from his sheets and crossed the feet between their beds. Erik could not be woken with a gentle nudge; it took a hearty shake to rouse him. He came to awareness panting with the terror still rolling off him. Without a thought, Charles pulled him into his arms and tried to pour calming emotion through their link. “You were dreaming, only dreaming. You're safe now, my friend. You're safe,” he reassured him.

            “I was back there,” Erik told him.

            “In the camps?”

            Erik nodded and clarified, “In Schmidt's clutches.”

            Charles rubbed circles on his back. “Happen often?”

            “Often enough.” Erik switched from speaking aloud to speaking through the telepathic link now that he was calmer. [I woke you.]

            [Not exactly. Your dream did.]

            [You were there, too?]

            [I don't know. I woke from a nightmare, but I don't remember what it was about. I'm fairly certain it was spillover from yours.]

            [I'm sorry.]

            [You have no reason to be. It's not something you have control over.]

            [Still, I'm sorry I woke you.]

            [I'm not. I'd rather both of us were awake than have you still caught in your bad dreams.]

            [At least this time I didn't trigger my gift in my sleep.]

            [Does _that_ happen often?]

            [Often enough,] Erik replied, and moved his pillow to show him a small piece of sheet metal underneath it. [Often enough for me to notice a pattern, and figure out that I usually manipulate whatever metal is closest.]

            [Often enough that you routinely sleep with metal under your pillow because of it, to avoid damaging the furniture.] Charles ached to think about it, just how often his friend was having nightmares, that this precaution had become routine.

            [Mostly it works.]

            [When I was young, I sometimes I used my gift unconsciously when I had nightmares, too. The results were usually rather alarming.] He felt a sense of curiosity/confusion from Erik, a wordless request to elaborate. [The number of times that I defended myself from my step-father in my dreams by paralysing the real one with my mind ... it just ended up making things worse. Eventually I learned better control; I had to.] He hadn't yet told Erik about his family, and he resolved to do so soon. It was a part of his life he didn't share easily, but he had seen so much of Erik's terrible past, and he couldn't deny that they were rapidly becoming very close friends. It felt wrong to avoid it any longer.

            Erik tightened his arms around him, and sent a wave of sympathy. [Do you still have nightmares?]

            [Sometimes. Not frequently, though.]           

            [So the connection stayed open, even in our sleep?]

            [So it seems. I didn't even consciously decide to leave it open. I just ... didn't even think about it.] Only one full day and several hours the previous day of constant mental contact, and the sense of Erik in the back of his head already felt so natural that he'd _forgotten_ about it.

            [I guess that's an oversight you won't be making again.] Erik escaped their embrace and slumped back down to a fully horizontal position on his bed.

            [Are you kidding? I want to know when your dreams are tormenting you so I can help you out of them. Besides, I'm curious to know what will happen when your dreams are pleasant.]

            [I'd accuse you of having too much curiosity, but I'm not one to talk when it comes to your gift,] Erik responded lightly. [I think I'm ready to sleep.]

            [Would you like me to sit with you for a while?]

            Surprise, and then gratitude, and Erik took his hand. [I'd like that very much. Thank you.]

            Charles sat beside him until he felt Erik's hand in his go slack, and felt his mind slip into unconsciousness, and then stayed another several minutes. “Sweet dreams this time, my friend,” he whispered to the sleeping form of his companion, before he returned to his own bed and fell back into slumber.


	4. Unfairly distracting / It's really quite innocent.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After they recruit Alex, there is drunk chess. (Which is the best chess, amirite?)  
> An accidentally overheard drunken thought has consequences.  
> Discussing it in the painfully bright light of day the next morning.

            It was a good feeling to convince another young mutant to join them, and to free the young man from his (mostly) undeserved prison term and his self-imposed solitary confinement. Alex was not the danger the law, and Alex himself, considered him to be; a fundamentally good young man with a volatile gift and an attitude. But a prison visit was depressing, and that lingered, outweighing the positive feelings, and leaving him and Charles both feeling subdued.

            They decided they needed to distract themselves, and they needed stiff drinks. The small town nearest the penitentiary didn’t boast much by way of entertainment. The only bar looked sketchy and like it would not be welcoming to outsiders, at least not to one who reeked as much of affluence and privilege as Charles. So, instead, they visited the town’s liquor store, bought more alcohol than was really necessary, and took it back to their motel for a night of drinking and, of course, chess.

            Too many drinks later, Charles was contemplating the board. In his drunken state he took longer than usual to decide his next move, and focused more of his attention on the board than he usually needed to. Erik watched him, waiting patiently for him to take his turn. While deep in thought, Charles kept unconsciously biting his lips ... his already sinfully red lips that truly did _not_ need to be any redder or more swollen than they already were, and then he would soothe them again with the tip of his tongue, just the tiniest little lick ... Erik realized he was staring, and he didn't even care. How had he not noticed before now, and it was unfairly distracting, why did Charles have to have such a beautiful mouth, just crying out to be kissed, such a temptation ...

            Charles looked up at him. [Why, thank you, Erik. I'm very flattered. I promise I'm not doing it to put you off your game. I can't help my pretty face.] And he puckered his lips in a kissy face with laughter in his eyes and in his mind.

            Erik's train of thought and his facial expression stopped cold in shock. He hadn't meant to share that thought ... and also, where the Hell had that train of thought come from?

            Contrition showed both in Charles' expression and his feelings. He spoke aloud. “I wasn't supposed to hear that, was I?” He winced, a sort of small grimace that Erik thought of as Charles' 'oh shit I messed up' face. It was, admittedly, rather endearing. “I'm so sorry. I didn't mean to. It's the drink, I think. Either it's making you louder or my control is slipping.”

            Erik replied mentally, [No harm done. I know it was accidental,] the thought flavoured with forgiveness. Aloud, he added, “Do you not know how to compensate for that?” His tone was curious, not judgemental.

            [I do, but I am ... rather more drunk than I usually get.]

            [Fair enough. Shall we finish our game?] Erik worried that Charles would want to discuss _what_ he'd 'overheard,' but he seemed content to let the matter drop.

 

            They were back on the road the following morning. Alex, having spent time in solitary confinement by choice, was not bothered by their lack of (audible) conversation. As Erik took the first driving shift, he just wished they could let the kid drive, because he and Charles were both feeling the effects of the previous night's drinking. But unfortunately, Alex didn't have a valid license. It was what it was; fortified with aspirin and breakfast, they dragged themselves back on the road.

            He felt Charles' presence quiet in the back of his mind – they were keeping the link open almost all the time by now – but neither said anything for a good half hour. Charles relaxed in the passenger seat with his eyes closed against the sun, and Erik thought he'd drifted off into sleep, until he finally 'spoke up.' [So, are we both pretending that nothing unusual happened last night?]

            Erik considered. [No.]

            [Then what do you want to do about it?]

            Another long, thoughtful pause. [I honestly don't know. It's ... not really like me.]

            [But it was you nevertheless.]

            [Yes.]

            [ _In vino veritas_ , I suppose,] Charles mused.

            [Except it was scotch. Really cheap scotch.]

            He felt that bubbling feeling of mental laughter. [Awful scotch. Why were we drinking so much of it?]

            [Because it was cheap?] They both chuckled aloud. Alex, to his credit, didn't react. [What about you?] Erik asked.

            [What, were you expecting me to be shocked? Disgusted?]

            [Well, most people would be.]

            [I'm not most people.]

            [And humble, too.]

            [No, seriously. It's not the first time I've felt that kind of desire in someone's mind, Erik. And compared to other things I've experienced, it's really quite innocent.]

            [And what do you want?]

            [I think you should figure out what _you_ want, and then I'll answer you.]

            Erik silently glared out of him out of the side of his eye. He knew Charles could sense it, even with his eyes closed.

            [Look, the thoughts came at you out of nowhere when you were plastered, and you're trying to sort out what to make of it all. Am I right?]

            [You know you are.]

            [And I can feel your confusion. You need to sort that out for yourself, my friend.] Erik was increasingly annoyed at the way Charles avoided answering what he really wanted to know, namely, whether he felt the same way at all, and then wondered unhappily if he was dancing around the question because he didn't. To his relief, Charles reacted to the burst of emotion by reassuring him, [I'm not saying no.] And that's where they left it, for the time being.

* 

           He knew what Erik meant when he'd asked, [and what do you want?] He meant, was his desire reciprocated? Would he search his soul and decide it was genuine, only to be rejected? Charles wanted Erik to figure out what he wanted without being influenced by knowing Charles' own feelings on the matter. Even so, he hated being coy and hated feeling like he was stringing his friend along. He felt a surge of emotion from Erik, irritation at Charles' refusal to give him a straight answer, spiked through with distress that he was being rejected, and knew he had to say a little more. [I'm not saying no.]

            Saying that he was open to the idea was true, but it was also far too simple. What did he want? He was no stranger to purely physical attraction and purely physical desire, and he had nothing against indulging in them. His track record with the coeds at Oxford proved that. But what did he want? What he'd always wanted in his heart of hearts was something he'd always thought impossible, a pipe dream. What he'd dreamed of was a partner who would embrace his gifts, someone with whom he'd share his mind, his thoughts and emotions as readily as they shared their words, their bodies and their hearts with one another. But that intimacy of the mind was something he'd never expected anyone to offer him. What he hoped for was someone whose mind he craved as well as their body. And Charles realized that the closest he'd ever come to any of those things was with Erik. That he'd found such a connection with a man, not a woman, seemed like a minor consideration in the circumstances. If their friendship remained entirely platonic, it still brought him more joy, more fulfilment than anything else in his life so far. Did he feel attraction right at this moment? Perhaps not, but he couldn't deny he'd felt a flash of desire the previous night in response to Erik’s interest, even though he'd hidden it with humour. _He_ didn't want to let himself develop an attraction until he knew what Erik wanted, because he knew he'd fall hard if he did, and he didn't care to get his heart broken. And if Erik _did_ want to pursue more with him ... that attraction would not be hard to find. No, he was not going to let himself get hung up on Erik, and he wasn't going to push or pry, but let him sort himself out without pressuring him. And that was where he was going to leave it, for now.


	5. Rationalizations (aka Erik Logic)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Short chapter is short, and does what it says on the tin.

            Erik wanted to forget anything had happened. It had been a one-time thing, a flash of an odd thought he wouldn't normally have. Everyone had those sometimes, right? A strange what-if thrown out by a drunken mind, nothing more. He and Charles were becoming very close friends, and that was ... very pleasing. They worked well together, as a team and as friends, each balancing the other. That was more than enough. It was more than he would have hoped for in his life only a few months ago.

            Erik found comfort in Charles' warmth. He cherished the way Charles slipped into his mind so easily, like he belonged there, like they were made to fit together, like hands with fingers laced together. Or like a hand in a glove.

            He wanted to ignore his lapse. The ideas that crossed his intoxicated brain were _not_ who he was. He would not speak of it again. And Charles likely wouldn't say anything unless he did.       

            Erik wanted to know how much further they were compatible. He wanted to know how completely they matched each other's ragged edges. He wanted to know everything that would make those blue, blue eyes light up with fascination, and twinkle in laughter.

            It was just a passing fancy. It wouldn’t last. It was an understandable side effect of how close they’d become, and how quickly, to develop a romantic interest. It didn’t mean anything more than that.

            Erik wanted to hold Charles in his arms, without any excuse of wanting or giving comfort. He wanted to count freckles. He wanted to taste those distracting lips. Hell, he wanted to see that luscious mouth on ... best not think of that any further.

            Erik wasn’t sure he was even fooling himself.


	6. Sweet memories / More fun with each other

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The boys try to let the subject drop. And it doesn't stay dropped.  
> Erik shares more of a memory than he needs to, and Charles is, as usual, a brat.  
> Also, our favourite cameo.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So ... it's not entirely clear *where* Charles and Erik go on any of the recruiting trips. I decided that there was no special reason for Wolverine to be where Rogue found him in 2000, and decided I wanted to go for something less remote, but still a smaller town, and still Canada. So, I was poking around maps of British Columbia, and discovered there's a municipality southwest of Kamloops called, get this, Logan Lake. It wasn't *incorporated* yet in 1962, but it might well have already existed. So, yeah.
> 
> As for Erik's memory and the timing, yeah, you saw what I did there.

           And the subject never really was dropped. They kept skirting around things. Every so often, one of them would let slip a comment or a thought that was ... sexually charged. Like they couldn't leave it alone.

            As two new friends on a road trip together are liable to do, from their first day on the road, they filled the hours by getting to know each other, trading pieces of their histories. They’d started off _telling_ anecdotes, but very early on, Charles had suggested something else. “You can describe your memories to me,” he said, “or ... you could show me.” So that was what they did, they shared their memories directly, when they could do so and still drive safely. It was so much more accurate, more real than struggling for the right words to adequately describe an experience, and never being able to capture the whole. When they shared memories, it was a little like watching a film for the one who hadn’t experienced it originally. There was a sense of being on the outside looking in. In general, it was just as well, as they both had enough traumatic memories that were better viewed with some emotional distance.

            Beyond the pleasure of his company, having Erik around allowed Charles to explore aspects of his telepathy he’d never had a chance to attempt. In Erik he had a willing partner to try new things out; he was comfortable with Charles' mental presence, and trusted him. The important thing was to _ask_ him, to give him a choice. Charles thought that if he pulled their minds into closer alignment, they would be able to experience each other’s memories as if they’d lived them. Really, there was no reason to do it beyond curiosity: _could_ it be done? And the only way to find out was to try it. They had a long plane flight, which meant a lot of time to kill, and neither of them needed to concentrate on driving.

            “I want to try something new,” he told Erik once they were settled and aloft.

            “Alright,” he said, and added, [What are we trying today?]

            [I want to pull you farther in. I think if I do, we'll experience each other's memories more intensely, like our own. Are you game? We’ll both feel more of each other than usual,] he warned.

            [I'm in,] he agreed, and added wryly, [But be gentle with me, Charles.]

            [Of course I will be. It's your first time, after all,] he replied in the same tone.

            Charles closed his eyes. He grasped Erik’s mental presence and _pulled_ , bringing them into closer contact and more parallel; spatial metaphors were terribly inaccurate, but it was a bit like bodies lying side by side, both looking in the same direction. [Alright, my friend?] It was only for confirmation; if Erik had found the transition jarring, he wasn’t feeling any distress. In closer contact, he was hearing more of Erik’s thoughts and emotions than usual, though far from everything. Curiosity about what they were about to try, fascination with air travel (it wasn’t his first flight, but it was still a novelty), 'why did we choose this guy out in the middle of nowhere,' affection, and the simmer of the attraction Erik was feeling was suddenly much stronger, as if he kept it out of his surface thoughts, but it was always present below. And Charles firmly reminded himself he was waiting for Erik to sort himself out and he was _not_ bringing the subject up.

            [I'm fine.]

            Charles considered what memory to show him. Strange to say, one of his happiest moments was when he'd met Erik, but sharing that memory seemed a bit odd. But it did give him an idea of what he might show him ... the time in _his_ life when he'd felt that amazement, when he first learned he wasn't alone: when he'd first met Raven. He brought the memory to mind vividly, in all its emotional richness: his fear thinking his home was being burgled, his confusion at his mother, his anger at realizing she wasn't as she seemed. And then his surprise and his joy when the little girl with scaly blue skin revealed herself, and how utterly charmed he was by her, and his feeling that he might have a friend, an ally in the bleakness that was his family life. He was smiling when they surfaced from the memory. [So, what did you think?]

            [Amazing. It really was like being in your place. I understand why you are so devoted to her. And she was awfully _cute_ back then.]

            [She was, at that. Much cuter in her own skin than looking like my mum, to be honest. Anyway, it's your turn. Show me something nice.]

            [Let me think.] He picked up hesitation and uncertainty while Erik tried to decide what to show him. Finally he was pulled into a memory. He saw him meeting a friendly, vivacious young woman. She had approached him, she had pursued him. She had known about his powers, and wasn't afraid of them, but thought they were kind of neat. He experienced their fun times, their dinners and dates. And then, perhaps, Erik had become too caught up in reliving his memories, because he experienced them having sex – in every detail that Erik could recall – and he experienced it first hand, as if he was inhabiting Erik's body in the memory. It was heady knowledge, to get a taste of what his friend's sexual responses were like.

            After Erik came in his memory, they fell out of the memory into the present. He found his eyes locked with Erik's grey-green ones, each staring intently at the other. The air between them was thick with sexual tension, and neither could mistake it for anything else. He thought, I want this. I can't act on it now, not in front of everyone on the plane. But I want this. What he picked up from Erik's mind, however, was another matter. Briefly, at the beginning, I want this. But it was followed by I can't, I can't want this, I won't, and then his mind skittered off into panicky no no no no. He tried to send some calm to soothe him, and drew his mind back to their usual degree of connection. He sighed to himself. Erik's inner conflict seemed so futile to him, but all he could do was hope he sorted it out.

            Meanwhile, he could distract him from his turmoil. “So what happened?”

            Erik blinked. “With Magda? I moved on, as I always do. It was just a good time, with us, nothing serious.”

            “And that was, when?”

            “Eight or nine years ago, I think.”

            “Was that the last time you ...?” Erik nodded. [God, Erik, you're a bloody _monk_.]

            [I've had more important things to do than go looking for a girlfriend. It simply isn't a priority for me.]

            [Well, I hope that after you've taken Shaw down, that you haven't forgotten how to use it.] He crooked his mouth in a half-smile.

            [Pretty sure I still know how it works,] Erik retorted with a laugh. 

*

            The road trips had been successful, in the sense that the mutants they’d found had all agreed to join them. Until ... afterwards, they would only call it ‘That Trip.’ The man they sought was in a small town in British Columbia. They’d checked with the agents, who assured them that recruiting someone in Canada would not cause any diplomatic snarls. There was no way they were driving all the way there, and the CIA paid for them to fly commercially. At least it wasn’t a long drive once they landed in Kamloops.

            After all that travel, they’d walked into the bar, introduced themselves, and been brushed off with three words. “Go fuck yourself.” And there was nothing to do but turn around and leave.

            [I should have told him fucking each other would be more fun,] Charles said.

            Erik was startled enough to reply out loud, “What?!”

            Charles had just smiled impishly and added, “Well, it would be, don’t you think?” But he didn’t take it any farther, nor did he try to backtrack or apologize, he just moved on to something else.

            Erik wondered if it was payback for the memory he'd chosen to share on their flight out.


	7. Want to take a closer look?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The return flight from BC. The boys feel each other's powers from the inside. A little gift.

            After their futile trip to British Columbia, they faced an equally long plane trip back to Richmond, and another chance for exploration. Charles waited until the plane was at its highest altitude before he broached the subject. [You said, very early on, that wanted to feel what my gift was like, do you remember?]

            [Do you think I would _forget_ any of our conversations?] Erik retorted.

            He wasn't quite sure how to take that. [I thought this might be a good opportunity. We're high enough up that the only people in range are the ones on the plane with us.] “As you said to Angel, I was thinking ...”

            “I'll show you mine and you show me yours,” Erik finished with a laugh. “Well, baby, that is very much how it works around here.”

            “When you're ready, close your eyes.” When he did, he let Erik into the part of his mind that controlled his gift. The first thing he wanted to 'show' Erik was ... [This is how I sense things most of the time, when I'm shielded from everyone else. I tend to imagine it visually, which is why I wanted your eyes closed.] Closed off like this, he didn't hear the other minds, but he could still sense them around him. He visualized them as points of white light arranged about him in the space of the plane.

            [There's one that's much brighter,] Erik noticed.

            Charles smiled softly, even though Erik couldn't see it. [That's _you_ , my friend. That's how I could specifically pick out the minds of mutants with Cerebro, and how I knew Hank was a mutant before we even spoke. Our minds _feel_ different to me.]

            [So it's just the two of us on this plane.]

            [I'd be surprised otherwise. We're pretty rare in comparison to the general population. The probability is extremely small that another mutant would just _happen_ to be on the same flight as us. So ... want to take a closer look?] He sensed Erik's hesitation and responded to it before he could say anything. [Just the surface thoughts. It's no more than I hear without trying anyway.]

            [Okay.]

            He slowly eased his shielding, letting Erik feel the process. The first person was an older woman focusing on her crossword puzzle. After that, he let Erik choose who to 'eavesdrop' on. So they glimpsed the pilot's mind, full of thoughts of his instruments. They tasted what a sleeping mind felt like from a fellow passenger who was napping. Some were frightened of flying, some excited. Some thought of family, some thought of what they would do when they landed. And one man – Erik couldn't resist turning to look at him, and saw an utterly unremarkable man in a business suit – was thinking fondly about his male lover.

            Charles pulled them back. [Now you see why I wasn't shocked at you, the night we recruited Alex. Harmless, and quite common.]

            [His thoughts were kind of sweet, actually.]

            [I thought so, too.] He considered saying more: that could be us, or, what are you so afraid of? But he knew pushing Erik would be futile, and he'd promised himself he'd let him make up his own mind. [So, your turn, I think. If I may?]

            [Of course. Come in.] It took a few moments for him to latch onto the part of Erik's mind that controlled his gift. Also, it was clear that Erik tuned out any information he already knew from his metal sense; if something changed, he'd notice, but he wasn't continuously and consciously aware of the metal in his surroundings. It took Erik a few moments to focus and get rid of those filters.

            But once they sorted that out ... it was astonishing. As with his own gift, describing Erik's metal sense in the terms of other senses was woefully inaccurate, but such are the limitations of language. The iron and steel around them drew the attention most; one could call them the loudest or the brightest. But he was aware of other metals as well: gold and silver in people's jewelry, copper in the electrical system of the plane, and each of these felt different, as if they were different flavours or ... [I tend to think in terms of sound,] Erik interjected. Had he been projecting his train of thought? [Vibration and resonance and harmonics.] He could feel the difference between different alloys, for instance between different types of steel. And he sensed everything from the very large (the body of the plane) to the very small.

            The smallest things he could readily make out as distinct items were perhaps a couple of millimetres in size, for instance tiny gears in a wristwatch or ... [What is that, Erik? Can you tell?] - the small bits of metal seemed to be _inside_ a fellow passenger?

            [I believe the gentleman has some shrapnel in his back that hasn't been removed.]

            Charles winced at that. And below the threshold of what he could make out individually, there was a low level awareness, like a hum or a static hiss, of metal at a microscopic level, which seemed to be related to the people aboard and to certain objects as well. [Is that ... microscopic amounts of metal? Metal in compounds at the molecular level?]

            [I've never really given it that much thought, but ... it must be something like that. See how it correlates with the human body? That must the iron in the blood and tissues.]

            [I could stare at this all day, but ... would you manipulate something for me, so I can feel that?]

            [Certainly.] Erik wriggled in his seat and pulled a handful of coins from his trouser pocket. [Watch this,] he said gleefully, and levitated the coins from his hand, then made them dance around each other, weaving in and out. He was showing off – he'd seen him levitate and 'juggle' coins before, but this manipulation was the most complex yet. And the show was just for the two of them, carefully out of the line of sight of the other passengers. As for how it felt ... he did seem to be moving them with his mind, with the power of his will, and they shared the bone-deep satisfaction Erik felt when he interacted with the metal, a satisfaction that was almost more physical than emotional. He let himself watch and feel for a while.

            [That's brilliant, my friend. Thank you,] he said finally. Erik let the coins settle back onto his hand, then put them back in his pocket. [I've seen you do that when you're restless. It calms you, doesn't it?]

            Erik glanced at him, a little surprised. [Yes, I suppose it does. I just figured it was keeping my mind occupied.]

            They talked for a while about Erik's powers, because he was curious how he exerted that control – was he altering magnetic fields? Did it have something to do with ionizing the metal? But ultimately his curiosity was frustrated, because Erik really didn't know, either, and eventually they moved on to other things.

 *

          Their meals were brought on foil trays. Charles eyed them speculatively once they were empty of food. [Ever sculpted with your gift?]

            [It’s not the word I would have chosen. I’ve reshaped metal for specific purposes, of course, and sometimes for no reason other than to pass the time. I’ve never done it for the sake of art, though.]

            Charles dipped his napkin in his water, and wiped Erik’s tray clean. “Make something for me?” he asked, sounding nervous and a little shy, and the emotions Erik picked up from him matched. He was very eager for Erik to do what he'd asked, and hopeful, but also afraid he'd be turned down, or that Erik would think his request was laughable.

            “Okay,” he said, and added silently, [Don't be silly. I'd be happy to.] And he was; he was always glad to show off for Charles. And he was pleased by the opportunity to give his friend a gift made by his own hand. [Read your newspaper.]

            [What?]

            [To block what I'm doing from everyone's view. And don't listen in, I want to surprise you.]

            Charles agreed, and opened his newspaper up all the way, and pointedly immersed himself in it. Several minutes later, he gently nudged Charles' arm, and presented him with a flower wrought from the tray. It was far from perfect; Erik knew this was a skill he would need to practice. But it was passable. And it was recognizably a rose.

            [This is lovely,] Charles told him, and he was sincere. [Thank you.]

            They both carefully didn’t think about the symbolism of what Erik had chosen to shape.


	8. I don't know and I never will

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> An unexpected revelation on the way to Russia.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to Demm and Nik R for your comments on previous chapters. (I don't know how to tag/link other user names in the summary/notes, if anyone wants to teach me, drop me a note?) And also to everyone who's left kudos. It's really heartening to know that people are reading and enjoying what I write. :) 
> 
> Warning for some discussion of Charles' abusive childhood (nothing too graphic, though.)
> 
> Edited to add: I understand that the abusive childhood comes from comics canon. I've never read the issues in question, and what I've picked up from other fics (possibly incorrectly, or not entirely correct to comics canon) is that both Kurt and Cain Marko were physically abusive, Sharon Xavier was distant and increasingly alcoholic, and that he was orphaned as an adolescent. The specifics of Kurt's and Sharon's deaths and the timing of them, I made up.

            They had a few days to get to know the latest recruits before the CIA received intelligence that Shaw had a meeting planned with a high-ranking Soviet official. And he and Charles again found themselves sitting through a long plane flight. Really, Richmond to Vancouver had _nothing_ on this long haul to Russia. Charles was antsy about the coming confrontation; he could have told that from his body language even without feeling it through their telepathic link. So Charles was in no mood to play and experiment with their powers to pass the time, although Erik doubted he was out of ideas. So they only talked – about nothing in particular, about the mission, about anything that came to mind.

            At some point, he didn't even notice when, he'd pulled out the old five Reichsmark coin and was weaving it over and under his fingers as they talked. The motion must have caught Charles' eye because his gaze flicked down to it, and then lingered. Charles grasped his wrist lightly, just enough to draw his attention there. “Is that what I think it is?”

            He let the coin come to rest on his palm, so Charles could see it. “Yes.” He'd shown Charles the circumstances of his mother's death, so he knew he understood the significance of this particular coin.

            “You still have it after all this time.”

            “It's ...” he wasn't quite sure how to explain. “It's a reminder of why I'm hunting them down. Not that I ever forget.”

            “A talisman, then. But what do you mean hunting _them_ , plural?”

            “It was never just Schmidt. He had ... staff. Lackeys, thugs, 'surgical assistants' ... a whole support structure. He's the last one left.” He considered the coin still resting in his hand. [If I have the opportunity, I've been thinking I want to use it to kill him.]

            He'd expected shock or at least disapproval from Charles, but he simply nodded in acknowledgement as Erik put the coin away in a secure pocket. [It does have a certain poetic justice.]

            He was surprised. [Who are you, and what have you done with the judgemental pacifist Xavier I know? You keep insisting on diplomacy instead of violence, and saying that deadly force should be the absolutely last resort ...]

            [And yet here I am working with the CIA,] Charles interjected, his tone an odd mixture of wry and weary.

            [Oh, I wasn't even going to _touch_ that subject,] he replied, amused. [But I'd expect a lecture or at least an objection from you when I talk about killing someone in cold blood.]

            [Some other time I might be more in the mood to argue with you about it. But I've known from the beginning what you mean to do. And ...] he trailed off.

            [And what?] he prompted. Charles' mind was churning below the level they shared. He couldn't hear any of the thoughts, but he could feel the turmoil.

            Charles let out a heavy sigh and looked down at his feet. [Let's just say I understand the desire to kill one's tormentors.]

            He took a few moments to digest that before a suspicious thought arose. [Charles?]

            [Yes?] He still wouldn't meet his eyes.

            [What happened to the rest of your family?] He knew the story, now: a kind and fondly remembered father who'd died when Charles was still young, a brutally abusive stepfather, a bullying older stepbrother, and an always emotionally distant mother who dealt with the situation by climbing into the bottle ... and Raven, no relation at all, taken in and protected by a twelve-year-old Charles, and more of a family to him than his actual kin. Charles initially had told him his history in words, but he'd also seen enough of those memories to truly understand.

            [Cain left home as soon as it was legal for him to do so. And yes, I manipulated him into it. That was the last time I saw him. He was alive and well then ... but considering he left home to join the army, that may no longer be the case. I neither know nor care. My mother's drinking problem got worse after my stepfather died. She was killed in an automobile accident several years later. She was almost certainly at fault as she was driving while she was quite drunk.]

            [And Kurt?]

            [They said it was a brain aneurysm.]

            They said? Yeah, he definitely smelled a rat. [Were you there? Do you remember what happened?]

            [I don't remember. I don't remember.] Then, more agitated, forceful, a mental shout, [I DON'T REMEMBER!] Charles was finally looking up at him again and there was something anguished in his eyes.

            He tried to be soothing. [You know we sometimes repress memories of particularly traumatic events ...]

            The agitation was gone when Charles replied, but there was still a deep treacherous pit of emotion behind his eyes. [You and I should be so lucky. No, Erik, you don't understand. I can't remember what happened _because I removed my own memory of it_.]

            That ... was completely unexpected. He couldn't think of a reply more intelligent than “Oh.”

            [I was eleven, Erik. I was just a child, I didn't even have sophisticated control of my gift yet, but whatever happened was so terrible I decided I had to protect my own mind from it, and _wiped my own memory,_ something I didn't have the skill to do again until I was much older.]

            He took one of Charles' hands in both of his. The agents could think what they liked, his friend needed the comfort right now. [I'm sorry, I shouldn't have pried into it, at least not now. It really isn't the best time or place for this conversation, is it?]

            [No. I had to tell you sometime, though. And to answer the question you've very carefully _not_ asked ... did I, at the tender age of eleven, kill my stepfather? I don't know and I never will. But ... I've thought about it quite a lot, and wondered what could have been so awful I'd need to forget. If the doctors said the cause of death was an aneurysm, it wouldn't have been gruesome. So either he did something truly awful right before he died, much worse than everything else he'd ever done, or I killed him. With my gift.]

            It wrenched his heart to imagine. [To have that taint on something that's so deeply a part of you ... I can see why you would need to forget that, for your own sanity.]

            [It does seem the most likely scenario.] His mental voice was weary and ... hollow.

            [Oh, Charles ...] he responded, full of sympathy. He fervently wished he could pull him into a full embrace as they'd done after his nightmares. It would have been awkward as they were strapped in side by side, but what stopped him was the thought of the unwelcome attention the change of position and the tender gesture would attract from the CIA agents around them.

            He must have projected the thought more than he realized, because Charles said [Thank you, my friend. I appreciate the thought.] He sent along an image of himself burrowing into Erik's arms, resting his head on his shoulder. Outwardly, Charles compromised by leaning against his side, and he put his arm around his shoulder to hold him close.

            They remained that way for half a minute before they moved apart, aware that lingering too long would, again, risk drawing attention. [I don't think any less of you because of it.]

            [You may well be the only person of whom that would be true, if others knew.]

            [I know you wish you knew you hadn't done it, but ... it was a more merciful death than many.] He paused as something else sunk in. [And thank you.]

            [Whatever for?] Charles was confused and wary.

            [If others knew... I'm the only one you've ever told.]

            [Who else could I tell? The police? They would just have thought I was crazy. Raven? She would not understand.]

            [She might.]

            Charles was angry, something he'd rarely seen. [And _you_. 'Thank you for telling me about your possibly murderous past,' like it's something to be _proud_ of.]

            “That's ...” he realized that he'd spoken aloud. [That's not what I meant.] He took several calming breaths; reacting to anger with anger would not help matters. [I meant ... It's a painful secret and one you've carried deep inside you, and I'm pleased that you trust me with it, above everyone else.] He would have told Charles to calm the hell down, if he hadn't been able to feel him fighting to do just that. [And for life of me, I can't imagine why you do.]

            Charles' eyes softened. [My friend, you truly have no idea, do you?] He sent fondness and exasperation as he shook his head slightly. [You're my closest friend, you great lump. I would trust you with anything.] Charles leaned against him again, briefly, then elbowed him playfully in the ribs.

            As he is mine, Erik thought, but only to himself. He wasn't letting him get away with the elbow, and poked him in retaliation. If the light mood replacing their earlier dark pensiveness was somewhat forced, neither of them was about to complain.

            Charles also changed the subject to less weighty matters. [What do you suppose the others make of us, thinking at each other?]

            Most of the agents with them were strangers. They knew Moira, of course, and her partner Levene, but the rest were young recruits they'd never met, more like soldiers than spies. Who knew if they'd even been briefed about their special abilities? [If they know. I don't particularly care, but they'd almost certainly guess wrong.]

            Charles smiled. [Even Moira. I think she's convinced I'm a lush and possibly a cad as well.]

            His lips curled in the tiniest smirk. [Aren't you?] he asked teasingly.

            Charles laughed aloud, and a few of the agents glanced over at them. [If I were that much of a rake, I'd have taken advantage of our pretty young recruit, which you will notice I did _not_.]

            [You would've gotten slapped for your trouble.]

            [True. As for being a lush, I can't blame her for having that impression. Did I ever tell you about our first meeting?] he began by way of introduction, then brought him into his memory ...


	9. I can't leave him

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The events of the Russian mission, from Charles' point of view.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm not terribly happy with this chapter, mostly because it came out of having to write the plot to bridge the time between other chapters, not out of genuine inspiration. Oh well. It does what it needs to do. 

            The mission to Russia was a revelation, and not only for the things they learned from Emma Frost.

            He'd never imagined he'd confess his suspicions about his stepfather's death to anyone. But truth be told, it was only surprising that he'd revealed it. It was no surprise that the one he'd revealed it to was Erik.

            They had a long, uncomfortable ride in the back of a farm truck once they'd landed. It was a sturdy and reliable vehicle, but the back of it was designed for cargo, not passengers. They had makeshift benches to sit on, and the suspension left something to be desired, especially once they were on dirt roads. Then they'd been stopped at an unexpected checkpoint. He took care of it by making the soldier who inspected the truck see the cargo area as empty, rather than crammed full of armed CIA agents and two mutants. When they'd been waved through and were on their way again, Erik had patted his thigh. He _knew_ it was only a friendly gesture, no different than countless others between them. It was Erik telling him 'good job, nicely done,' without saying a word. But this time ... for some reason, this time it stirred something in him, and he wanted nothing so much as to grab that hand and hold it there ... and other things he ought not to do in front of half a dozen CIA agents.

            Well then, he thought to himself. And, damn. And, so much for staying cool until Erik figures himself out. And lastly, we're about to confront Shaw; if this ends today, how can I convince him to stay? He didn't linger too long on these thoughts; after all, he needed to concentrate on the mission. The last question ended up not being an issue: they discovered when they reached the general's estate that Shaw wasn't coming, and had sent his telepath, Emma Frost, in his stead.

            Moira declared that they'd come to apprehend Shaw, and in his absence there was no mission, and they should leave. Erik, of course, wasn't having any of that. “She's his right hand woman, that's good enough for me,” he said, and added to Charles, [If nothing else, we can find out where he is and what he's planning.]

            “The CIA invading the home of a senior Soviet official. Are you crazy?” Moira exclaimed.

            He knew the smirk curling Erik's lips meant trouble, but damn if he didn't adore it anyway. “I'm not CIA,” Erik declared, and stood to leave their hiding place. He called to him, reached out to him, but he left their hiding place without looking back. They watched Erik break from cover and run across the wide-open lawn of the estate, creating havoc as he went.

            Levene decided they needed to disengage, worrying that Erik's actions would cause a diplomatic incident, if not a war. They surely wouldn't abandon Erik entirely, but wanted to retreat to a safer distance. But Charles watched his friend running into danger, facing armed guards, and knew he couldn't leave. If Erik was running into danger, he was going to face it with him. “I'm sorry,” he told Moira, “I can't leave him.” And he left the agents behind to follow Erik. It was the first time he'd seen Erik in serious action, using his powers against other people. He was gratified when he realized that Erik's attacks were intended to disarm and incapacitate the soldiers he encountered, not to kill them.

            He finally caught up to him as he reached the room where Frost was toying with the general. He had to put the man to sleep when he registered their presence and drew a gun on them; then Charles tried to read the other telepath, and was blocked when her entire body transformed into glittering crystal. “You can stop trying to read my mind, sugar. You're never going to get anything from me while I'm like this,” she said. It was a fascinating secondary mutation, and one he would have loved to examine in other circumstances – but they needed answers from her. It wasn't the time for scientific curiosity.

            “So then you can just tell us,” Erik said to her. Oh, _that_ was really likely ... “Where's Shaw?” And to Charles he added, [I have an idea.]

            Instead of replying, Frost rushed toward them ... to attack them? To get past them and escape? But together, they caught hold of her, and at Erik's suggestion, they manoeuvred her back towards the bed. He watched Erik bind her with the brass of the bed's footboard. That would keep her from getting away from them but wouldn't get her mind open, or any answers out of her. Then Erik made another cord of brass circle her neck, and tightened it. And tightened it more. “Erik,” he said, trying to get him to stop before he strangled her. “Erik, that's enough.” Still the brass tightened and Charles became more alarmed. What did he hope to accomplish? “That's enough!” He wondered if he could somehow distract Erik into breaking his hold on the metal, because he needed to intervene and didn't want to take over his mind to make him stop. But he didn't have to intervene; there was a subtle cracking sound and the brass wound around Frost's neck eased up as she shifted back into regular skin and flesh.

            “All yours,” Erik told him. “She won't be shifting into diamond form again. And if she does, just give her a gentle tap.” He was radiating smugness as he stepped away to let Charles take over the interrogation. Charles realized he should have trusted Erik not to go too far; he'd been worried that he was about to kill Frost, but that had never been his plan. Rather, he'd come up with a clever way to counteract her ability; the goal had been to break the diamond, so she was forced to abandon that form. He was aware of Erik nonchalantly helping himself to the general's caviar and watching him with Frost as if they were an amusing show. Alright, he thought, let's see what Shaw is up to, and he probed into the woman's memories.

            It was much worse than they'd imagined.

*

            Frost didn't fight them when they brought her back to where Moira and the rest of the agents were waiting for them, or when they put her under their custody. She'd hinted darkly that the CIA would have bigger problems than dealing with her. It worried everyone, but there was nothing they could do until they were far enough away from Soviet airspace to safely break radio silence.

            Finally, Moira emerged from the cockpit and came to speak to them, and her face was grim. “I've just been on the radio with Hank.” (Hank? Charles wondered.) “Shaw and his other associates attacked the facility while we were away. They killed the entire staff ... all the human staff, that is. The mutants are alright, except that Angel left with them, and Darwin's dead.”

            Charles knew he should have been thinking of all the other victims as well, but all he could think of was Armando's bright smile, and his friendly, steady mind. Erik looked just as stunned as he felt. And then it hit them emotionally at the same time, and without any discussion or even much conscious thought, Erik wrapped him in his arms, and he wrapped Erik in his. He buried his face against Erik's shoulder as he began to sob. Erik was quieter, but tears dampened his cheeks as well.

            They did not care who saw them cry, and they did not care who saw them comfort each other.


	10. You always have ideas

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Our introduction to the Xavier mansion. Another one of Charles' ideas for exploring their powers. For science, you know.

            Erik knew more about Charles' past than the others (except Raven, of course.) But he was still shocked at his first view of Charles' family home. The estate was vast, and the building itself could have belonged to old European aristocrats. The Xaviers had been at most a family of four, and he knew they'd had live-in staff, but only a few; all told, the household wouldn't have numbered more than the little group of mutants that gathered there now. A single family, in a building that could comfortably house many dozens of people. As usual, he found himself hiding his discomfort behind sarcasm. “Honestly Charles, I don't know how you survived, living in such hardship.” He regretted it almost immediately. Outwardly, Charles remained impassive, but his mental presence flinched away in hurt. Erik cursed himself. He _knew_ better. Charles had endured enough hardship here, just not of the material kind. He reached out with a mental tendril of shame and apology, and [I'm sorry,] and wished that he dared reach out a comforting hand, but he didn't think it would be welcome just then.

            But Raven stepped up and hugged her brother from the side, and retorted, “Well, it was a hardship softened by me.” He felt the burst of warm affection Charles had for his sister, and caught the stray edges of memories. It brought home to him emotionally what he'd known intellectually about Charles and Raven's past. For a long time, even as children, they had been the only ones in each other's lives to care for each other and stand up for each other. Raven's tone of voice had been as light and teasing as his own, but her words pointed to a sad and deeper truth.

            Erik cursed himself again, and thought, not for the first time, at least I knew my parents' love, while I had them. [I'm sorry,] he said again, [I shouldn't have said that.]

            Charles' presence was warm around him again, a sort of mental hug. [It's alright, Erik. I know you didn't mean to be hurtful. Luxury notwithstanding, I don't have many good memories of this place.]

            As Raven led the group on the tour of the house, Erik replied, [Then let's make some.]

*

            It wasn't training, precisely. In between training the others, Charles continued to indulge in their experiments. One morning when Erik was awake before everyone, Charles nudged him mentally, while still abed in his own room. [Good morning, Charles,] Erik responded. [How are you?]

            [Still drowsy,] he answered honestly. [Want to try something.]

            [Yes?]

            [I want to ride your senses for a while.]

            [What do you need me to do?] They'd done enough of his telepathic experiments that Erik took it all pragmatically in stride.

            [Nothing. Just ... let me, and go about your morning. Have breakfast, whatever. I don't know if it will feel any different for you.]

            [Alright.]

            He closed his eyes in his own quiet bedroom and slipped into Erik's sensory perceptions. This was purely an indulgence for him. He knew it was something he was capable of doing – he'd used a guard's eyes and ears to listen in on Frost and the general, after all. But this was the first time he'd done it purely for his own curiosity. People had argued about the nature of perception. When two people look at the same thing, do they see it the same way? Is your blue the same as mine? Everyone considered it a matter of philosophy, since people can only know what's in their own mind. Except for him. He was in a position to test that.

            Erik heard sounds the same way as he did – the slight differences were due to differences in focus and attention, not in his perception. He saw colours differently, but only slightly. It was hard to tell about smell, because it was so tied up with memory and emotional responses to the scents. But taste, that was interesting. The toast tasted exactly the same on Erik's tongue as it would have on his own, and he tried very hard not to think about _Erik's tongue, dammit_. He didn't drink coffee himself, but he noticed it tasted much less bitter to Erik than he remembered it from the last time he'd tried it. Fascinating.

            And touch? If he ended up focusing less on how things felt on the skin of Erik's hands and feet, and more on the feeling of being in a body that was shaped differently from his own, that was still an interesting experience. And if he lingered a little while, enjoying his friend using longer, more powerful muscles while he went for a morning jog, could anyone really blame him? Erik clearly picked up on some of it, because he could _feel_ his smile.

* 

            Charles caught Erik after lunch that same day. The others all had various plans that didn't involve either of them. “Your turn,” he said without preamble.

            “My turn what?” he asked.

            “Your turn to look through my eyes.”

            He didn't really mind, but Charles was presuming things in his enthusiasm. “You know, it is generally considered polite to _ask_.”

            Charles blushed just a bit, and Erik felt his contrition. “Sorry. I just ... you _do_ want to, don't you? It'll be fun. I had some ideas.”

            “Yes, of course I want to. And you always have ideas.”

            Charles had brought along a set of the protective headphones they used when working with Sean, and a scarf. “To block out the input from your own eyes and ears,” he explained. “There's not much we can do about smell and taste, but they shouldn't really be an issue.” As Charles tied the scarf and set the headphones on him, Erik thought it was very strange that he was willingly letting someone blindfold him. He couldn't imagine himself allowing it a few months before. He was only in dark and quiet for a moment before Charles told him [Okay, I'm bringing you in,] and did so.

            While it was a little odd seeing himself through Charles' eyes, it was more disconcerting to feel two separate sets of touch and of kinesthetic sense. It took him longer than he liked to get used to it – Charles even offered to try and eliminate those sensory inputs – but he finally managed by concentrating on his own, and mostly tuning out Charles'. [If you're steady,] Charles prompted, [then stand up and come with me.]

            [Where are we going?]

            [Games room. I don't think you've been there yet.]

            It was a bit surreal, walking through the mansion while seeing and hearing everything several centimetres lower than he was used to, not to mention some distance to his left. Charles walked beside him with a guiding hand on his arm; he didn't really need it, they both knew that, but he liked it there. Because they thought everyone was busy elsewhere, they were both surprised when they encountered Raven along their way.

            She raised an eyebrow sardonically. “Well, well. A blindfold? _Kinky_.”

            Charles stared at her, at a loss for words in his surprise. She just laughed and walked past them, continuing on to wherever she'd been going.

            Erik knew her words were meant for him, even though he shouldn't have been able to hear them. He wondered if she'd guessed what they were doing or just expected her brother to pass along what she'd said. He also noted her words and her expressions were no less embarrassing when seen and heard through Charles.

            [I suppose I deserved that,] he commented to Charles with a short laugh.

            Charles was still both surprised and confused. [Are you going to tell me what that was about? I feel like I'm the conduit for a joke I've been left out of.]

            [Okay, but don't be angry. I know how protective you are of her. The night I almost left, I came across her with Hank. He was getting a blood sample from her, and she ... was about to kiss him while he was doing it. I interrupted them by calling it kinky. I don't think she's forgiven me for ruining the moment.] Impulsively, he sent along his memory of the incident.

            Charles laughed. [I wonder if I should be protective of _Hank_ , instead.]      

            [Probably. She seems to know what she wants, and he seems rather ...] he wasn't quite sure for a moment how to express it. [ ... virginal?]

            Charles erupted in laughter. [I am quite sure _that_ is none of our business.] Charles did stop laughing out loud but his mind was ticklish with amusement for the rest of the way. Erik kept his thoughts to himself as they walked. They consisted of mainly two things: first, that the universe was conspiring to not let the subject drop if _Raven_ was adding to their tension. And second, how very appealing that blindfold might be in another context entirely.

 

            [Here we are,] Charles announced when they reached their destination. He opened the door and ushered him in with a bit of a flourish.

            [So, why the games room?] he asked as Charles steered them around a billiard table.

            [Because I like playing games with you, obviously,] Charles joked.

            [Obviously.] He didn't bother raising an eyebrow that would be hidden by the scarf, but his tone was surely dry enough to convey it.

            [I wanted to see how well you could use your gift without sight.]

            [Wouldn't it make more sense to have me blindfolded and without _your_ sight, then?]

            [Yes, and we can try that as well. I admit I didn't entirely think this one through. Mainly I thought it would be fun.]

            [I still don't understand what the games room has to do with it.]

            [Right. Well, I mean to have you aim metal at a target, without your eyes. I thought about setting some sort of target up in the bunker, and taking some kitchen knives, but then I realized ...] He stepped away from Erik, retrieved something from a drawer, returned, and turned them both to face a different wall. [I have a small target and metal projectiles already set up.] They were looking at a dart board from which the wires had been removed. Charles pressed the darts into his hand.

            [So you do, although I'd like to think I'd make a dashing circus knife-thrower.]

            [Indeed you would.]

            He had a brief mental image of himself and Charles as the knife-thrower and his target, respectively. It was charged and so intrusive that he thought Charles had sent it, except it lacked the 'feel' of his mind. He forced it out of his mind and tried not to show any reaction. And he put the conversation back on track. [If you were the one who removed the wires from the board, as I assume, then you know the answer already. I can move the metal fine without seeing it, but I can't aim it accurately at a target I can't see or sense. However, the frame backing of the board is metal. I should be able to hit the board, but not the bulls-eye.]

            [So, are you going to show me what you can do?]

            [Yes. Shall we have a game?]

            [You have an unfair advantage, you know. Besides, do you even know the rules?]

            [No, but I imagine that _you_ do. I'd just prefer, right now, to do something _with_ you, than to perform _for_ you.]

            [Alright, it's a deal, on one condition. That you let me feel the metal while we play.]

            He smiled at the request. Evidently that 'experiment' was one that Charles had enjoyed. [That's fine by me.] He decided that he would actually throw the darts before manipulating them, so he would be adjusting their course at full speed, just to make it a little more challenging. His first throw wasn't quite perfect, but once he compensated for the fact that he was throwing from a different angle (from his own hand) than his line of sight (through Charles' eyes), the rest of his throws went precisely where he wanted them. Charles had clearly spent some of his time at university playing darts at the pub as well as drinking, because his aim was quite good too. Charles still lost, but not as badly as they expected.


	11. Something has changed (aka Erik Logic part II)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Short chapter is short, and again, is basically getting inside Erik's angsty head.

            Something had changed in Russia. Okay, obviously things had changed – they'd lost Darwin and Angel and the use of the CIA base. But beyond the obvious – something had changed with Charles.

            Their attraction continued to be the elephant in the room – they didn't talk about it, but they kept bumping into the elephant's legs. Before Russia, the little jokes, the unintended slips – everything still felt light and playful, then. Now, it felt serious. It felt more _real_. And Erik had to admit it had moved well beyond mutual physical attraction. If that was all it was, he could have ignored it, shaken it off. But it was much more. He _cared_ , more than he'd allowed himself to in years. Charles _mattered_ , and he hadn't truly realized how much until he found him in his arms on the plane, devastated and in need of consolation. It bothered him that he'd let himself get drawn in so far and get so emotionally entangled. He didn't know if he'd be able to move on when the time came, as it always did.

            But then, Shaw was the last. He'd reached the endgame. Maybe this time he wouldn't need to leave.

            The attraction though, that was a problem. More and more often, he found himself haunted by fantasies, by lewd images, by sensual daydreams, and they were harder and harder to dismiss and forget. And everything he'd learned in his life told him that it was _wrong_ and disgusting. Truth be told, though, try as he would, he couldn't make himself feel disgust, quite the opposite. He kept telling himself, this is not me, this is not who I am, over and over. It became less convincing with repetition, though, not more. He had to start considering, if this _is_ who I am, what does that mean for me?

            Meanwhile, he kept these musings to himself, and tried not to show how Charles' friendly, casual touches made his pulse quicken and his skin tingle every time.


	12. No, Erik, Russian roulette is not a trust exercise / Subtle control and a gentle hand

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The infamous point blank scene. Okay, I know it wasn't Russian roulette, but the chapter title jumped into my head and I couldn't resist it. There's a slight change in the dialog from the movie, but it's basically because of something I added in.
> 
> Something entirely different for training. (Warning for extensive nerdiness about Erik's powers!)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Shout out to [cherik-mcbender on tumblr](http://www.cherik-mcbender.tumblr.com) for a quick opinion she gave me.
> 
> And thanks as always to everyone reading, leaving comments and kudos!

         He'd been working with the others, one on one, and this was the time he'd set aside to work on training Erik's gift. He seriously wondered, though, if he'd have to use some of that time to deal with other issues. Erik was troubled. Charles didn't know what about; whenever he asked him how he was, he got a terse 'fine' – the sort of 'fine' that usually meant the exact opposite. If he tried to dig any deeper, Erik would clam up. If it had just been one or two days like this, he would have left it alone; everyone had moody days, and Erik had more reason than most people to brood, after all. But this had been going on continuously since Russia, at least, and seemed to be getting worse. If Erik's upset mind got in the way of using his powers effectively, if it affected his concentration, they were going to have to deal with it. Erik's mind was in turmoil, but he kept it out of the levels they consciously shared, so he could only sense the stormy waters but could not see the cause. He had a growing suspicion, from what occasionally leaked through, that it had something to do with him. Of course Charles was capable of digging deeper to find out, but he wasn't going to pry, wasn't going to intrude deeper than he'd been invited. Not unless it was absolutely, utterly, life-and-death necessary.

            He was open to the others bringing their own ideas to training, so he wasn't bothered when Erik brought a gun to his session. (Except, he hadn't had one before – where had it come from? Was it Moira's? All they'd had at the mansion was rifles for hunting, not handguns, he was sure of it.) But what Erik asked him to do ... that tested his resolve not to intrude in Erik's thoughts because it was damn close to being life-and-death.

            Erik pressed the gun into his hand, stepped a few paces back, (not far enough, dammit), and told him bluntly “I want you to shoot me.” Right, he thought trying to calm himself. Bullets are metal, Erik can control it. Charles had little experience with guns and didn't trust his accuracy, so he aimed for Erik's lower leg, figuring if things went spectacularly wrong and Erik didn't stop the bullet, _and_ his aim was off, he still wouldn't hit anything vital. Erik looked down at the gun and flicked his eyes up meaningfully. “Higher,” he said. “It's not much of a test if there's no real danger involved.” He still hesitated, and Erik growled, “Fine,” and lifted the gun himself, dragging his hand up with it. It was pointed squarely at Erik's head.

            He was deeply unhappy with the whole situation. Still, he wanted to hope Erik knew what he was doing. He tried his best to keep his hand and his voice steady. “You're sure?”

            “I'm sure.”

            He took a deep breath. “All right.” He had to hope it would be all right. For long moments he just held the gun, trying to work up the nerve to pull the trigger when every instinct (and common sense) screamed at him not to. Then Erik grinned ... except was it a grin or a grimace? The smile was far too manic for comfort and a quick brush against Erik's emotions showed him only the inner turmoil he'd been worried about and nothing of confidence about this self-appointed test. That was enough to confirm his decision. He let his hand drop. “No. No, I can't. I'm sorry. I can't shoot anybody point blank, let alone my friend.” Let alone the person I think I'm in love with, he thought to himself.

            Erik, as stubborn as ever, wasn't going to give up. Of course not. “Oh, come on. You know I can deflect it.” He grabbed Charles' hand, and the gun, with both of his own and raised it all back to his forehead. In another context, he would have enjoyed Erik's hands firmly grasping his ... but no. “You're always telling me I should push myself.”

            He allowed himself to look deeper than he was usually invited. Privacy be damned, it was justified right now. And what he saw confirmed what he'd feared. This was self-destructiveness born from his emotional crisis. And oh no, he was not going to stand for that. He pulled his hand and the gun free from Erik's with some force. He thought it would be more effective to convince Erik by appealing to his pride than facing the problem head-on, but his voice betrayed him, upset at the thought of losing Erik to his own recklessness and despair. “If you know you can deflect it, then you're not challenging yourself.” Anger had crept in there, as well, and for a moment he let himself speak freely. [But I don't think you're as sure of deflecting it as you want me to believe. _Dammit_ , Erik! If you've got a bloody death wish I can't help that, but I _refuse_ to be a party to it.]

            [I don't ...]

            [You bloody well _do_. _Christ._ Stop and _look at yourself_ for once.] Erik was utterly silent now following the outburst, and he wondered if he'd gone too far. Perhaps it would be best to get back to discussing how to work on his powers. [Leaving aside the issue of deflecting bullets, I know handling guns is almost second nature to you. Easy.] And, deliberately challenging, “Whatever happened to the man who was trying to raise a submarine?”

            “I can't. Something that big? I need the situation, the anger ...”

            “No, the anger is not enough.” It made a certain amount of sense that Erik thought he needed the boost of strong emotion to extend the physical strength of his gift – but it hadn't been enough in Miami.

            “It's gotten the job done all this time.”

            “It's nearly gotten you killed all this time.” He started walking into the house, and Erik looked at him, unsure why he was leaving. He tugged Erik's arm encouragingly. “Come on. Let's try a different sort of challenge, one which won't get anyone hurt.” Erik gave a half-amused, half-offended huff but followed him inside.

*

            Charles left him sitting in the kitchen while he went to gather supplies. He'd tried not to show it in Charles' presence, but he was fuming. Not at his initial refusal to shoot – Charles was soft-hearted and he could not blame him for his nature. No, it was what he'd said later. It was true that he hadn't been certain he could deflect a bullet; he'd never tried it before, all his previous manipulations of guns had been to the opposite purpose. Still, he had no reason to believe he couldn't do it. It stung that Charles had called him on his little lie. Also, he felt that his request was, in essence, the ultimate trust exercise – and it hurt that Charles didn't trust him in this. But most of all, to angrily accuse him of having a death wish, that was completely out of line. Besides, it was nonsense.

            Wasn't it?

            Still, he knew that Charles had said those things out of (misplaced) concern for him, not to be hurtful on purpose, and he couldn't stay angry at him for long. So when Charles returned several minutes later with a box of stuff, he only said calmly, “You're wrong, you know.”

            Charles raised an eyebrow and replied, “Am I, now?” He put the box on the kitchen table and rummaged in the fridge and cabinets for a few more items.

            He let the argument drop, since they'd only repeat themselves. “So, what are we doing?” he asked as Charles began to lay out a bewildering array of items in front of him.

            “I've mostly seen you work with iron and its derivatives, and never on a very small scale. I thought we'd try some other metals, and some things that contain iron down at the molecular level.” He tore a piece off the roll of kitchen foil and placed it on the table. “Metallic aluminium,” he said, giving it the British pronunciation. Next, he poured the blood from a tray of uncooked meat onto a small plate and set it down. “Haemoglobin.” He poured out table salt onto another plate: “Sodium chloride.” A single ruby on a gold band. “Gold alloy, and aluminium oxide with chromium inclusions.” He paused. “Could I borrow the gun for a moment please?” Erik passed it over and Charles removed one of the rounds, and set the bullet on the table before him. “Metallic lead,” and he returned the weapon. A short length of plumbing pipe - “Metallic copper,” a stick of chalk - “Calcium carbonate,” and finally, an old thermometer - “Elemental mercury,” came out of the box and joined the collection on the table.

            “The ring?” he asked, and he thought, irrelevantly, that the stone's colour resembled Charles' lips.

            “It was my mother's,” Charles answered his unfinished question.

            “So, I presume you want me to try and move each of these?”

            “Move them or reshape them, yes. But I'd like you to try and just sense them separately, first. And tell me how they feel to you.”

            He nodded. “Sure, but why the last?”

            Charles gave him a small but genuine smile. “Curiosity, mostly. But it will also give me some idea if you can separate and distinguish all of them.”

            “It can be difficult to describe in words, but I'll try.” He started with the most familiar, and focused on the dish of cow's blood. “Iron. Hmm. It's what I handle most often; I've stopped noticing how it feels. Solid without being heavy, medium pitch. Bright, it draws my attention, but matte, not shiny? Damn, that doesn't make any sense, does it?”

            “It doesn't need to. You're trying to describe the impressions of an extra sense using words for the other senses – it's not likely to be logical. Go on.”

            “It's washed out, diluted compared to pure iron.”

            “Because it's in a compound with other elements?”

            “Possibly? I'm not sure.” He had no difficulty sensing the iron in the haemoglobin, but getting a hold of it to manipulate it was another story. He closed his eyes and concentrated hard, narrowing his focus to the pool of blood alone, to the exclusion of all the other metal around him. There, almost ... he focused even further, until he could sense the red blood cells and their precious load. He grasped, clenching his fist unconsciously as he did so, and pulled them all together into a tight knot, then yanked to the left. He pulled back from his tight focus and opened his eyes. There was a dense ball, intensely red, on the side of the plate, in a pool of colourless serum. And Charles was grinning brightly at him. He let go of the iron, and the ball disintegrated, mixing back into the liquid.

            “Good show, my friend. I'd imagined you might pull the iron out of the haemoglobin or the haemoglobin from the cells. I can't be sure without a microscope but I do believe you managed to pull the whole cells by their iron without damaging them.”

            “So?”

            “So, that shows subtle control, and a gentle hand, if you will. Quite impressive. What's next?”

            “The aluminum,” he decided. “It's light, it shines gently, and it’s like a clear soprano.” He gently raised it from the table and folded it using his gift into a crude airplane shape, and wished he knew more sophisticated paper-folding so he could imitate them with the foil. “It won't glide on its own like paper would, he commented, “but ...” He sent it across the room imitating the speed and trajectory a thrown paper airplane would have, landing it on the counter. That earned him another precious smile from Charles at his whimsy.

            Next he turned to the table salt. “Sodium. It's hot and blindingly bright, and unpleasantly high pitched. Again, it's somewhat muted.” He had to narrow his focus to the microscopic as he had with the blood, but even when he did, the sodium was hard to take hold of, frenetic and squirming out of his grip. He knew he couldn't hold it long enough to arrange it in any shape, so he settled for lifting all the grains a couple of centimetres. He managed to hold them for only a second before they fell back onto the plate with a quiet hiss. He grunted in frustration. “The pure element might be easier ...”

            Charles interrupted. “Metallic sodium is _incredibly_ reactive, though. You'd hardly find it outside of a chemistry laboratory.”

            “But even so, I think I'd have trouble. The sodium was ... it was like holding on to a wet, hyperactive eel.”

            Charles laughed at his description and they continued. The chalk took effort, but not so tight a focus as either the blood cells or the salt. He decided not to make a mess by breaking the stick down in any way, and simply levitated it. The calcium within he described as cool, silvery and alto. The copper and lead he handled with ease. The copper – warm, energetic, orange, alto and tenor harmonizing – he drew out into a long coil of wire. The lead – heavy, ponderous, sweet, white, baritone and bass – he shaped into a perfect cube, then indented the pips of a die for fun. The mercury – slick, rapid, babbling in a multitude of tones – he only levitated, because it was constrained inside the glass tube of the thermometer. The pattern held – metals in their elemental form were much clearer to him and much easier for him to manipulate than when it was it was in chemical compounds.

            The last item was the ring. He didn't describe the other metals in the alloy and Charles didn't ask him to. He called the gold shiny, warm, and like a choir of baritones. He picked the ring up and then levitated it above his open palm, spinning it in a lazy circle. “Can you sense anything from the ruby? Can you manipulate it at all?” Charles asked.

            “The aluminum in the stone is as I described before, except muted.” He closed his eyes briefly to concentrate. “There's so little chromium, it's hard to get a good sense of it. It's flickery, shifting colours. That's all I can get. I'll try doing something with the ruby, but the gold is distracting.”

            “If you want to pull it out of the setting, I don't mind.”

            “No, I want to see if I can do it.” He had to focus very tightly, both because of the microscopic scale he was dealing with and also so he could ignore the gold alloy of the band. It took him longer than he expected, and in the end all he managed to do was continue to hold the ring by the ruby when he let go of the gold. To indulge his curiosity, he pulled the setting away from the ruby, and confirmed his hunch that the stone would be easier to handle without the interference of the gold around it. He levitated the ruby, not with ease, but with much less effort than before.

                They both agreed the session had been quite enlightening.


	13. Rage and Serenity

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A shared dream which is more than a little frustrating.
> 
> The satellite dish scene and all that comes with that. Charles very nearly acts. Almost.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know the chapter title is somewhat cliche. I couldn't think of anything I liked better, though.
> 
> I haven't stated it anywhere but this is a few days (at least) after the previous chapter. 
> 
> Oh, and this is all from Charles' POV. The asterisks are just denoting a skip ahead in time.
> 
> And you'll notice now we're starting to diverge just a bit from the scene as it was in the movie ... :)

            Ever since their first road trip and the shared nightmare, they had kept their link open even in sleep by unspoken agreement. It had proven to be helpful, as he'd woken Erik from nightmares several times since then, and Erik had woken him from one of his own, once. When they had moved into the mansion, Charles had waited for Erik to claim one of the guest rooms, and then chose one nearby for himself, so he would be close at hand next time it happened. Once or twice they'd shared more innocuous, workaday dreams. But he hadn't anticipated _this._

            Charles dreamt. He dreamt of the two of them here, in the mansion. He knew it was actually Erik's dream, because he was experiencing Erik's point of view, and he saw himself. At first it was the warmth of friendly interaction, with a little bit of the teasing they both indulged in. Good Lord, was it a distortion of the dream or was he really that flirtatious? And then the dream turned rapidly pornographic, and ... Erik's sleeping mind certainly was _creative._ It was incredibly strange to be doing such things to himself ...

He woke abruptly. Erik was still asleep and still dreaming, and still leaking images from his sexual dream. He felt as if he'd intruded where he shouldn't, and blocked the dream _hard_. He considered shutting their link, but worried it would wake Erik and he'd know what Charles had 'overheard.' That had certainly been _enlightening_ , but frustrating. Erik dreamed of that, and yet said _nothing_ , and did nothing, when he was awake? He'd promised himself over and over that he was going to let Erik figure out what he wanted in his own time, but it was crystal clear what Erik wanted; he just wouldn't acknowledge it. And if they didn't resolve this soon, Charles thought, he might well go _quite_ mad. And he was not made of stone; the dream had left him longing and hard. Well, _he_ knew and acknowledged what _he_ wanted, even if Erik did not. He took himself in hand and revisited in his imagination what they'd done in the dream, only this time he took his own place. Oh god, imagined that way it was even more delectable. It didn't take long. When he came, he called out Erik's name ... he thought, only in his own head.

            [Charles?] Erik's mental voice was fuzzy with just having woken up. _Shit_ , their link. Not only had he heard the call, it had woken him. [Is everything alright?]

            [Nothing. I'm fine. I'm sorry I woke you. Go back to sleep, my friend.]

            Yes, they needed to sort things out, and _soon_.

*         

            When they saw each other in the morning, Erik showed no sign of remembering his own dream – or none that Charles could sense, at any rate. His own complexion betrayed him, blushing the moment he saw Erik, who had just come in from his morning jog. He was rumpled and sweaty from exertion, not unlike how he would look if ... No, he didn't need to be unintentionally leaking _that_ image around him. And of course Erik noticed his blush, or perhaps he caught a bit of the emotion that had caused it. [What?] his friend asked, with a touch of amusement.

            [Nothing,] he replied, and added aloud, “Good morning, Erik.”

            “Morning. Sleep well?” Erik's tone was teasing – did he remember after all?

            He reminded himself that Erik liked to feel superior that he rose early and exercised, while he was a slow starter, still 'lazing about' in bed. Likely that was all he was thinking of. “Quite well, thank you.”

            He ate his breakfast in silence, and Erik fetched himself a glass of juice and returned before he asked, “So, what's on the agenda for today?”

            Getting you to stop denying your feelings, he thought privately, but replied, “Hank's finished adjusting Alex's focusing device, so we'll be getting some practice with that, but I'd like to see you after.”

            “I still haven't figured out how to move very large things.”

            “Precisely that. There's a good chance that when we find Shaw, we'll be dealing with his that submarine of his.”

            “I like to think I am a rational man, or rational enough not to have strong emotions about inanimate objects, but I must confess, Charles, I hate that boat.”

            “Not just the man inside it?”

            “At least a little for its own sake.”

            “It's not rational, I agree, but I can't say that I blame you.”

            Erik finished his juice and dealt with the dirty glass. “I should go shower. I'll see you later this morning, then?”

            “I'll come find you,” he agreed.

            Erik left him to his breakfast and his thoughts. One of those thoughts was the need to find a way for Erik to access more strength than what anger and adrenaline gave him. Erik was capable of more, he knew it for certain, but how?

 

*

            Charles found Erik later that morning in one of the mansion's emptier rooms with Raven, training her in hand-to-hand combat. Raven was in all her blue-skinned, red-haired glory, although thankfully she'd put on some clothes that weren't part of her skin. He gave Erik a gentle mental nudge to alert him to his presence, then waited for them to finish ... whatever they were doing. “I'm sorry, Raven,” he told his sister, “I'm afraid I need to borrow Erik for a while.”

            He'd only been able to think of one truly massive metal structure on the estate, so when Erik was ready, he led him outside to the graveled patio. “Sadly, I don't have a submarine anywhere on the premises for you to practice on,” (Erik snorted at that), “So we'll just have to make do.” He gestured across the grounds at the massive satellite dish. “See that?”

            [The dish that I pushed Sean off of? How could I forget?] Erik answered silently, amusement in his mental voice.

            [I still can't believe you did that.]

            [He was never going to jump on his own. Besides, if he really _had_ failed to catch the sonic wave, there was enough metal in his harness that I could have kept him from falling.]

            [Yes, _thank you so much_ for telling _anyone at all_ about that part of your plan,] he replied, his tone absolutely arid with sarcasm.

            [Besides, admit it, it was funny.]

            [Maybe to _you_ , but you scared Sean half out of his wits. You're such an asshole,] he added, but the insult was fond. And, okay, maybe it had been a little bit funny.

            Erik just grinned back at him. [So, the satellite dish?] he prompted.

            “Try turning it to face us.” Erik looked back at him in disbelief, but he tried. He tried very hard. The hand he gestured with was tensed in position, he gritted his teeth, and Charles could feel the strain pouring off him. He caught the edges of a memory as Erik tried to summon his anger, hoping to stretch his power. He felt that anger, but it was not enough. The dish didn't budge.

            Erik let go of the dish and he bent over the balustrade in defeat, panting. [I can't,] he said, frustrated and a little ashamed.

            Erik had tried doing it his way. Now Charles was going to try the only idea he had come up with. “You know, I believe that true focus lies somewhere between rage and serenity. Would you mind if I ...?” He waggled his fingers in his usual gesture meaning 'do something telepathically.'

            Erik gave a tiny shake of his to indicate he didn't mind. [Why do you even ask anymore? Of course it's alright.]

            [Because it's good manners, and besides, I'm going to be snooping around more than usual.] He looked into Erik's mind. He surveyed the tangled mess of threads that was Erik's lifetime of memories. So many of those threads were dark and thorny. But _there_ ... there was what he wanted, an especially bright thread, radiant and sweet. He followed the thread into the knot, seeking the memory that it led to. As he followed it to its end, he wasn't surprised that Erik kept many of his happiest memories closely packed together, side by side. He looked them over briefly, and was surprised how many of those bright memories, the neighbours to the thread he was following, involved him. But the one he was following was the brightest of them all.

            He accessed that memory and let it play out for them both. The low light of evening ... lighting candles ... hushed voices and ritual words ... beloved faces golden in the candlelight. Erik must have still been a child in that memory, and his parents were both there with him. Though he couldn't explain how he knew, he could tell the scene was filled with love: Erik's for his parents, his parents' for him, and his parents' for each other. It was so much sweeter than any of the other memories had ever shared with him ... before everything, Erik had been _happy_. And Erik had been loved in a way that Charles could only barely remember.

            Only when the memory had ended and he blinked back into the present did he realize his cheek was wet. He wiped the tear away with his thumb.

            “What did you just do to me?” Erik asked after several moments. His voice was low and somber. It wasn't accusing so much as stunned. Clearly he'd been as affected by his own memory as Charles was. [What _was_ that?]

            “I accessed the brightest corner of your memory system,” he explained. As moved as he was by the whole thing, his emotions got to his lips faster than his brain. “It's a very beautiful memory, Erik. Thank you.”

            “I didn't know I still had that,” Erik said, his voice a little shaky. He sounded vulnerable, raw with happiness and loss mixed together.

            Such a beautiful moment, and he couldn't consciously remember it. He desperately wanted to hug him tight. He didn't, but he moved closer into Erik's personal space and met his eyes. He wanted to say everything, _everything_ , that was in his heart. And he realized than in some ways, he knew Erik's mind much better than the man did himself. And his mind, his mind was so beautiful. It was not the sterile beauty of something perfect, no. There was overwhelming power and discipline and strength of will, there was the sunlit honey of his happiness, but there were dark corners, terrible secrets, rage and grief and guilt and violence. It was _real_ , and it was exquisitely, painfully, beautiful. And that's what got him speaking again. “There is so much more to you than you know. Not just pain and anger. There is good, too. I felt it. When you can access all of that, you will possess a power no one can match. Not even me.” His own voice was almost choked with emotion and every word of it was true. He _knew_ how powerful Erik's gift could potentially become because he saw the shape and size of it in his mind. And all this time he was screaming inside his mind, Can't you see I'm desperately in love with you, you great fool, and didn't know whether he wanted to bite the words back (wait for Erik to say something, don't push don't push) or blurt it out loud. And they were so close, so much in each other's physical and emotional space at that moment. It wouldn't be so hard to lean in just a little more ... _No_ , he stopped himself. Sorting their emotions out was important, yes, but getting Erik ready to move submarines was even more crucial. He pulled himself back under control with a wrench, and a promise to himself. _Soon_. They needed to see if this would work. “So come on, try again.”

            Erik reached his hand out towards the satellite dish again. At first, nothing happened. Then slowly, ever so slowly, the dish began to turn in place. Erik's expression of concentration began to turn into a smile, although a tear ran down his cheek at the same time. By the time the dish was facing them, his wore a huge grin of triumph and joy. [We did it!]

            He laughed in delight and it was catching and then they were both laughing in sheer relief, bent over the balustrade. [ _You_ did it, Erik. _You_ did.] He patted his friend's back in congratulations. “Well done.” When they straightened their postures, Charles found himself stepping back deep into Erik's personal space, and he didn't stop him or bristle or object. He wiped the forgotten tear away from Erik's cheek tenderly, with all his fingers. Still no negative reaction, only a brush of curiosity at his mind. He left his hand resting where it was and thought, this is it. To hell with it, I'm going to kiss him. Here goes.

            And just when he was getting his nerve to step up and kiss Erik, Moira's head and shoulders appeared from an open upstairs window and she called out to them. “Hey, the president's about to make his address!” And the moment was gone.

            Dammit.

 


	14. There is very little I would not do, for you.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The night before Cuba, the chess game of no peace.  
> Faced by the possibility of imminent nuclear war, the boys finally talk about their feelings. And act on them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> FINALLY! Okay. No actual sex in this chapter, for those who were waiting. But lots of FEELINGS and flirtation and foreplay. Next chapter will be soon - it's basically written but, you know, going through and editing, and all that good stuff.
> 
> Long chapter is longer than previous, but I didn't want to break it up.
> 
> Also: a note about languages, and my headcanon about it.  
> Erik's first language is obviously German, and it's canonical from the movie that he's fluent in French, English, and Spanish. I'm of the opinion that Erik's family is assimilated enough that while there's *some* Yiddish in the household, it's not enough for him to be fluent; he just has a smattering of words and phrases, and a lot of them will be slang or endearments.  
> Also, that Erik tends to slip into German in moments of high emotion.  
> Clearly, Charles understands him when he's using German, and you can choose whether you believe that's due to education or a side-effect of the telepathy; and the Yiddish he could pretty much get from context.  
> That said, here's some translations:
> 
> (mein) Schatz: (German) (my) sweetheart, darling. Literally it means 'treasure' which is why it is my favourite German endearment ever. :)  
> feygeleh: (Yiddish) male homosexual  
> Liebling: (German) darling. Literally, 'little love.'  
> verdammt: (German) damn(ed)  
> la petite mort: (French) 'the little death,' an euphemism for orgasm

            The geopolitical situation and anticipation of their own mission the following day put them both on edge. They were stone cold sober despite the convivial glass of brandy, and their conversation over the chessboard quickly turned to debate. It was the same debate they'd had over and over again; Charles' peaceful nature and optimism, and Erik's own conviction that once Shaw was gone and Soviet missiles no longer an immediate threat, the mutants would become the next public enemy. Not just their little band, either, but all of them. “After tomorrow,” he said, “they're going to turn on us. But you're blind to it, because you believe they're all like Moira.”

            “And you believe they’re all like Shaw,” Charles retorted.

            “No. Shaw’s a mutant, and humans are just as capable of being genocidal. Say instead, I think they are all like Himmler and Mengele and Stalin. You're wrong, though. I don't think all humans are like that. Very few are, but the rest are far too easily swayed by those who are. Mark my words, Charles, after tomorrow we will not be safe.”

            Then Charles took the conversation in a direction Erik hadn't expected. “Listen to me very carefully, my friend,” Charles said. “Killing Shaw will not bring you peace.”

            “Peace was never an option.” He was not naïve. He knew his anger, his pain, his nightmares were his for the rest of his life, as indelible as the tattoo on his arm.

            [Understand me. I will argue with you to the last minute against needless killing ...]

            [Killing Shaw may be the only way to stop him,] Erik pointed out.

            [You're interrupting,] Charles chided him without heat. [I wasn't finished. I will argue 'til the last minute, but when that moment comes, if you still feel you need to kill him, my friend, I will not stop you. I will help you.] It carried the ring of a promise.

            Surprise, affection and a deep gratitude welled up in him. [Despite your convictions and your conscience, _Schatz_?] he asked, deeply moved.

            He might have surprised himself by using the endearment, but not Charles, who just sent him a burst of warmth in response. [I suspect you may be right. It may be the only way to stop him. But whatever happens, whether or not it proves to be necessary anyway ...] Charles left the thought hanging for several seconds, staring into his eyes, deliberately lending emphasis to what he was about to say next. [For you, yes.]

            Erik knew how much of a gift that was, and couldn't even begin to articulate what he felt. He could only echo, [For me?]

            [There is very little that I would not do, for you.]

            [What are you saying?] he asked, hope sticking in his throat.

            [We've been dancing around this since the day we brought Alex back to Richmond. I promised myself I would let you take as much time as you needed to figure things out, but ... we've run out of time.] Charles grasped both his hands, carefully arranging their arms to avoid disturbing the board. He couldn't help noticing how warm they were, and how soft. [I know your desire that night was not a fluke, my friend. You may have ignored it, but I have felt it many times since. Why do you hold back and say nothing?]

            [Because I'm not sure I want to be that kind of a man.]

            [I don't think it bothers you so much in itself. I think you're more worried what others will think of you.]

            Charles, as usual, was too damn perceptive. It had bothered him, but he'd stopped fighting it. [And rightly so. I've been judged negatively my whole life for being a Jew and being a mutant. I already have two targets painted on my back without being a _feygeleh_ as well.] He sighed, internally as well as out loud. [And despite that, I still want to be with you,] he conceded.

            [You know, there's a good chance we may all die tomorrow. Given the circumstances, who _cares_ what people think? Who would even know?]

            Erik realized he'd already made up his mind, but still, he couldn't ignore the consequences. [And if we survive the day, then what?]

            [I say we cross that bridge when we come to it. And I can't change the whole world, but if any of our friends gives us a hard time, they will no longer be welcome here in my house. I don't want to push, Erik, but if I die tomorrow, I don't want to go to my grave never telling you how I feel.]

            His heart clenched a little. [Then tell me.]

            [You've been under my skin since the first time I touched your mind. No one has ever let me in as far as you have, and the deeper I go, the deeper your hooks sink into me. You've become far more than my best friend, you're the complement to my heart. I tried to hold back until I knew what you wanted, but somewhere along the line I fell in love anyway.] Along with his words, Charles released a wave of emotion, the intensity of his affection and longing saying as much as his words, and more. His sexual longing was just as palpable as the emotional yearning. [I said once that I felt your agony, let me feel your ecstasy as well.]

            The tidal wave of feeling was so overwhelming, Erik could only tighten his hands and he was lost for words. Maybe it was the confession, maybe it was the wave of emotion, but it was as if a floodgate had opened and everything he'd been trying so long to suppress, to ignore, to fight against and to hide even from himself came racing through him, and he could no longer deny any of it. [I don’t know how to say ... just ... _here_ ...] and opened up to share all the emotions inundating his heart: physical desire, yes, but so much more, a deep and intense romantic attraction, as well as the platonic affection and admiration he’d never needed to hide.

            Charles took a moment to absorb it before responding. [If you will share your life and your heart with me, as you do your mind, that alone would make happier than I have ever been, even if you never feel comfortable enough to share your bed.]

            [No, _Liebling_ , I will not deny you. I think I've denied enough already.] He sighed. [When did you realize?]

            [Russia, I think. When you were set on single-handedly starting a war to get to Frost, and no matter that it was reckless, crazy and stupid, I knew I had to follow your fool arse anyway.] His words were laced with indulgent laughter.

            Erik felt subdued, however. [I am sorry, Charles.]

            [For being a reckless fool?]

            [No, that turned out well enough. For not acting sooner.]

            [Don't be. I could have spoken up, but I chose to wait.]

            [Still.] He released one of Charles' hands as he stood and stepped carefully around the table, holding the other hand the whole time. Charles scooted his chair back to make room, and he knelt in front of him, looking up into his face. [So much time we wasted, and for what?] He noticed Charles cracking a broad smile at him and laughing in his mind. [What?]

            [What a picture you make, Erik. Am I a king on my throne, here,] he indicated the plush chair he occupied, [and you my supplicant?]

            [Well, they do say a man's home is his castle, and yours is more of a castle than most,] he replied with his own laughter. [But I mean to take liberties with you that no king would allow.] He raised his free hand to cradle Charles' cheek.

            [Oh, I _do_ hope so.]

            He leaned forward for a kiss, and Charles, knowing his intention, met him halfway. His lips were just as soft as he’d imagined in his daydreams. He kept things light, just their lips, although his hands tightened on Charles’ cheek and hand. Charles pulled away slightly and locked eyes with him. [Why so tentative, darling? You _know_ I want this, want you. I’m practically begging for it.] His mental voice was slightly coloured with exasperation, but overlaid with indulgence. Erik couldn’t help but imagine his friend – his love - undone with desire and begging him for rather more than kisses.

            Charles chose that moment to take the initiative and wrapped his hand around the back of Erik’s neck, and pulled him firmly back in for another kiss. He was far bolder, almost immediately deepening the kiss with Erik's eager acquiescence. Meanwhile, Charles had pressed the hand he still held firmly to his own leg. The lingering image in his mind and, god, that first feeling of Charles’ tongue in his mouth together chased away all conscious thought for several seconds before he could reciprocate properly, and he made an involuntary noise in his back of his throat, too embarrassingly high-pitched to be a growl. When he regained his wits, though ... he took the hint and rubbed Charles’ thigh and kissed back hungrily. And he had a new appreciation for their ability to converse while their mouths were otherwise occupied. [And _would_ you beg for it, darling?] he asked, and sent the delectable picture he’d imagined.

            Charles actually _whimpered_. [Oh, God, love.] He, too, needed a moment before he could say anything sensible. [You’d like that, wouldn’t you?] There was a new quality to the mental voice, similar to the huskiness that arousal would lend his physical voice. Not that he needed the confirmation; he could sense Charles’ arousal through their link, and wasn’t _that_ delightful?

            He nipped lightly at Charles’ lip. [Yes, if only because I’d love knowing that I was the one to put you in such a state.]

            He felt more than heard the growl, and suddenly found himself leaning back as Charles turned the kiss into something aggressive, going on the attack. One of his hands was raking fingernails on Erik’s scalp and neck, the other wandering wherever it could reach. Erik had the advantage of a better position, and attempted to pull Charles’ shirt out of his waistband blindly, but stopped, interrupted, when Charles spoke. [Oh no, Erik. I think I will make _you_ beg and whimper.] There was genuine challenge and a touch of anger in his tone.

*

            Erik was altogether too smug, and not just in this; he was always so self-assured that he was always right. He didn’t care to start arguing again, but that ego could use popping. [Oh no, Erik. I think I will make _you_ beg and whimper.] And to do that, he needed to reach more than his head and shoulders. He pulled away abruptly and stood, made sure he was well clear of the table and both chairs, and settled himself on the floor with his legs spread.

            He was a couple of feet away from where Erik had been sitting. As Erik shuffled over on his knees, he responded, “I’d like to see you try.” Once settled between his thighs, Erik busied himself unbuttoning Charles’ collar and nuzzling his neck.

            “Oh, I don’t think it will be difficult. I already have you crawling on your knees, after all,” he said with a laugh. Erik nipped his neck as if in chastisement, but it felt too good to be any kind of deterrent. “So tell me, which one of us has the upper hand?” He leaned away so that he could pull off his cardigan, thinking that would be quicker than unbuttoning it.

            He had the garment half-way off when Erik moved suddenly. He grabbed both of his forearms which were entangled in fabric above his head, and gave him a shove. Charles found himself flat on his back, his arms pinned by his cardigan and one of Erik's hands, and Erik's other hand was making its way under the hem of his shirt. “Oh, I don't know. I'd say that _I_ do,” Erik said, and began tickling him.

            He squirmed under the assault and had to respond mentally, as he laughed too hard to talk aloud. [What are you, five?] Erik didn't let up. [Okay, okay, you have the upper hand. I admit it.] The fingers remained on his flank, but they stroked now rather than tickled. [Are we seriously doing this? Scrapping for dominance like a pair of dogs?]

            [Speak for yourself. I’m a wolf.] Erik flashed a deliberately predatory grin, and an impression of the two of them as a wolf and an Irish setter.

            [Yet you’re affectionate and tame with me,] he replied fondly. He would have illustrated his point by caressing Erik’s face, but his hands were pinned, so instead he sent a picture of himself scratching Erik as a very happy Great Dane behind his ears.

            Erik laughed. [Dogs or wolves, you’re not, seriously, complaining. You’re enjoying this.]

            He was, and of course Erik could feel that. He was acutely aware of being pinned, of how Erik knelt straddling his body, and of the lust in his eyes that didn’t dim even as they bantered playfully. [Of course I am.] “Alright, Erik, you’re the alpha dog. Now, could I have my hands back, please? I want to touch you, too.”

            “Since you asked so nicely.” Erik released his wrists and pulled the garment the rest of the way off for him, then sat back a little. “Better?”

            “Much. Come here.” He grabbed the front of Erik’s shirt to pull him closer, tugging it part of the way out of his trousers at the same time. He gave it another tug to free it in back. _Finally_ , he could get his hands directly on skin. He mapped the broad planes of his back, and traced down the line of his spine. The reaction was contentment, the response to a touch that was pleasant, but no more. So Charles changed tactics and brought his hands forward, tracing filigree patterns of feather-light touches on Erik's flanks and abdomen. And yes, _that_ was more like it, the muscles trembled under his fingers and he felt the frisson of pleasure in Erik's mind.

            When Erik decided he'd had enough of that treatment, he shifted his weight and leaned forward to pamper his neck and collarbone with kisses, on the opposite side from before. [This is unfair,] he said teasingly, [I think I need to level the playing field.] Erik opened his next shirt button, and his kisses trailed down onto the newly uncovered stretch of skin. [I wish your shirt had metal snaps. It would free my hands up nicely.]

            Charles tried to imagine himself in a gaudy Western shirt and really couldn't, and chuckled at the idea. “I don't even own any.” Another button. He continued, trying to sound sarcastic, “Forgive me for not planning ... _Christ_ ,” his train of thought utterly derailed by lips and tongue on his nipple, soon joined by the dissimilar sensation of dry fingertips rolling and pinching its twin. No, whatever he meant to say was irrelevant compared to riding the sensations. He paid no attention to time, and noted only that Erik eventually switched sides.

            After he’d lavished approximately equal attention on each nipple, Erik moved on and pressed a soft kiss in between, on his breastbone, then looked up at him with an amused grin. “You were saying, Charles?” he asked, all mock-innocence.

            He blinked. “I was?” Outwardly, Erik kept his expression unchanged, but inwardly he was fizzing with laughter. “What? You were very distracting.”

            “Snaps,” Erik reminded him.

            “Ah ... Forgive me for not planning my wardrobe especially for your convenience. Especially since most of it was bought _before I even met you_.”

            Another button. Erik returned to his trail of kisses. [Inexcusable,] he teased.

            [Or perhaps you're just impatient,] he laughed.

            He held his arms in the same position while Erik worked his way down his torso, so his fingers trailed up Erik's chest as he moved. It took little attention on his part, thankfully, as he had little to spare. Erik clearly appreciated it, he felt a low hum of enjoyment through their connection, punctuated with occasional bright jolts when he chanced upon a sensitive spot, but it wasn't enough to distract him from his purpose.

            [Or maybe I'm just less distractible,] Erik sassed him.

            It was a badly timed jest. Moments later Charles' fingers found his nipples with a light caress. Erik stiffened and (wisely) halted his progress. When he repeated the touch just as lightly but with the edges of his fingernails, Erik dropped his head onto his stomach with a groan. [You were saying?] he asked sweetly. He kept experimenting with different touches, and Erik couldn't coherently respond.

            Charles could have continued teasing Erik much longer, enjoying the various sounds he made and feeling his pleasure resonating back in his mind. But Erik finally growled “ _Enough_ ,” and he complied, moving his hands to the safer ground of his shoulders. He wondered if it was some sort of retaliation when, instead of returning to his slow ministrations, Erik immediately invaded his navel with his tongue. He found it mildly, wetly, unpleasant, yet oddly erotic at the same time. Not entirely retaliation: Erik paused to ask him, solicitously, [Too unpleasant?]

            [Hell no. Keep going.] Soon enough he was the one wiggling and gasping, and his hands tightened on Erik's shoulders. When Erik decided to move on, it was to nibble on the softness just below his navel. He trembled in anticipation of the logical next step, but Erik stopped and laid his chin on his belly, looking up at him thoughtfully. Whatever was he playing at?

            [How far are we taking this tonight?] Erik asked him.

            [As far as you want to,] he replied and felt a deep wave of Erik's lust in response.

            “Then perhaps we ought to move to somewhere more appropriate than the library floor?” he suggested.

            Charles simply nodded in agreement. At that point, he would happily have let Erik take him right there on the floor, but he had to admit that a bedroom would be more comfortable and more private. Erik rose carefully to his feet and offered him a hand up, which he accepted gratefully. Once on his feet he kissed him deeply but briefly and complained, [You are an insufferable tease, my friend.]

            [It's not teasing when I _fully_ intend to follow through.] He stroked Charles' cheek tenderly and toyed with a lock of his hair. [Still, I am sorry that I got so carried away, we should have stopped to relocate before it became so ... wrenching to stop.]

            [Still, did you _really_ have stop _right before_ ...]

            Erik interrupted him with a mental laugh. [Yes, I am _quite_ aware what you were expecting next. You were projecting it rather insistently.]

            [Still mean.]

            [Not on purpose.] Erik pulled away and opened the door of the library, peering outside. “Hallway is clear,” he announced and stepped out.

            Charles retrieved his cardigan from the floor and followed. [I can do better than a visual check,] he pointed out. He opened his mind just enough to sense the fellow residents of the mansion, bringing Erik's consciousness along. Moira, Sean and Alex were in their respective bedrooms, none asleep yet but all clearly settled in for the night. Hank was his lab/workshop space, radiating emotional distress ... and NO, he was _not_ going to go find out what was troubling him. The young man was not, after all, seeking him out. He bit down on the helpful urge, hard, feeling a little guilty. Tonight was for _him_ , and for Erik, dammit. In any case, Hank did not look to be roaming the halls any time soon. Raven ... _Raven_. For a moment, his mind was blanked out with emotion, and he wasn't sure if it was shock, anger, or betrayal, or some mix of all three. His lust evaporated entirely, at least for the moment.

            [Your bedroom, then?] Erik asked gently.

*

            Raven was in his bedroom. _Raven_? Was in his _bedroom_? What in all the hells was she playing at?

            [Your bedroom, then?] he suggested as gently as he could, fully aware of what Charles was feeling. He wanted to calm him, not provoke him any further.

            Charles turned to him, eyes flashing, then seemed to remember that Erik was not the cause of his anger, and Erik felt him push down hard on the emotions he was projecting. All but one of them. Hurt? Charles took his face roughly in both hands and locked eyes with him. Even though his body language was harsh and angry, his mental voice was anything but; rather it was vulnerable and almost scared. [Erik, please tell me you didn't ... that there's nothing going on between you.] He suddenly understood why Charles was feeling betrayed. What upset him was not the idea of his friend 'dishonouring' his sister, but that the one he wanted as his lover might be involved with someone else behind his back.

            [I swear to you there is not. Please, _Liebling_ , see for yourself.] There was nothing in his thoughts and memories of Raven that he minded Charles seeing.

            [I trust you, Erik. You don't need to prove it.]

            [But you don't always need to depend on trust. I want you to look, and put yourself at ease. Please.]

            It was an odd sensation, to feel Charles scanning through his mind like a book for anything to do with Raven, and to revisit memories at his direction. He wouldn't have minded if Charles had looked at all of them, but he was satisfied after only a handful.

            [You really _do_ like her blue form,] Charles commented with a mix of puzzlement and admiration. He started to drop his hands from Erik's face, but Erik held them there with his own.

            [I embrace all of us as we truly are. But yes, her natural form is magnificent. I have told her she is beautiful, and I understand how she could have misunderstood my intentions.] He was trying to get Charles back on track, and squeezed his hands. [But I've only had eyes for you for a long time,] he all but purred.

            [I need to have words with her. This is _not_ acceptable.]

            [She's only trying to do the same thing we are, taking a chance on what might be our last night on Earth.]

            [But to lie in wait in someone's bedroom, uninvited ...]

            [She's an adult, Charles. She gets to make her own bad decisions. And she'll be waiting in vain. Her disappointment and embarrassment should teach her enough of a lesson, I think.]

            [But ...]

            This was _ridiculous_. They had finally broken the dam on their pent-up desire and love, and Charles was getting sidetracked and hung up on _this_? He pushed Charles against the wall of the hallway and growled, “ _Let. It. Go,_ ” then pressed up against him and kissed him hard and deeply. Charles was only surprised for a split second before pulling himself even closer and kissing back eagerly, lust flooding back in quickly.

            When Charles finally pulled away, panting to catch his breath, he asked, [What was _that_ about?]

            He let his arms slide down to circle Charles' waist. [Getting your attention back where it belongs. On me.]

            [Mmmm. Yes. You certainly have my undivided attention now, Mr. Lehnsherr.] There was a slight overlay of amusement over his desire, in his teasing formality.

            [Good.] He stepped back and took Charles' hand, then started to walk down the hall. “Let's go to bed, then.”

            “Yes, let's.” Charles leaned into his side as they walked, and pulled Erik's hand into his back pocket, then let go and curled his arm around Erik's waist, resting his hand on his hip.

            “Bossy little thing, aren't you?” he said with a grin.

            “When I need to be. Anyway, you like it.”

            He kissed Charles' hair briefly. [Yeah, I do.]

            “So, there's something I've been wondering about.”

            “Yes?”

            “Why do you switch back and forth between talking aloud and telepathically, when we're alone?”

            “You do it too.”

            “I asked first.”

            Earlier in the day, he would have been embarrassed to answer. Now that things were open between them, he could be honest. “Because I like having you in here,” he tapped his own temple, “but I like listening to the sound of your voice too.”

            “Hmm.” Charles squeezed his waist and sent a mixture of touched and amused.

            “What's funny?”

            “Well, sometimes I'm just following your lead, but ... me too.”

            “Yeah, I know you like the sound of your own voice,” Erik teased.

            “That's not what I meant. So, does that mean I should take you back to my room and woo you by reading my entire thesis to you?” he grinned mischievously.

“ _Charles_ ,” he growled in warning and exasperation.

            “I'm joking, love. I'm pretty sure I have more efficient ways to get you into bed.”

            “Oh, _do_ you?” he drawled.

            Charles stopped and pulled him fully into his arms, and murmured into his ear. “Would you like me to demonstrate some techniques?” His hands were wandering dangerously.

            “Not in the _verdammt_ hallway, _fuck_. You're going to be the death of me.” He pulled away reluctantly and began walking again.

            “Only _la petite mort_ , I should hope.”

            A worrying thought occurred to him. [If you are this distracting tomorrow, it will be a very real danger.]

            Charles' playfulness disappeared. [Believe me, I'll be behaving myself. I'm not crazy enough to be anything other than 'all business' in that situation. I know you have the discipline to keep your mind on task, too.]

            [So long as you don't _flirt_ at me.]

            Charles was grim when he replied. [Seriously, if you are concerned that what we do tonight will be a distraction ...]

            [Then what, you'll send me off to my own bed? It will be fine.]

            [You're sure?]

            [I'm sure. Besides, I think I'd be I'd be in a far more distractible state of mind if you left me hanging after all this.]

            He meant to lighten the mood and it worked, Charles fizzed with mental laughter. [That is a _very_ good point, my friend. I suppose we must have sex for the sake of the mission,] he joked. Then he cuddled closer to his side for a moment, and his emotional tone changed completely. [And because I very much want to, of course,] he added with a blend of tenderness and lust.

            Even though he already knew it, it warmed him to hear Charles say it. There was one thing he needed to clear the air about, though. “You know I've never done this before. With a man.”

            “Neither have I, love.” And silently, [So?]

            It was embarrassing. [I have only the most basic idea of what goes where, or what I'm doing.]

            [You've done well so far. Don't worry, I _do_ know, and I can show you.]

            “But you said you hadn't ...”

            Charles gave him a naughty grin. “I haven't, not personally. But I never said I hadn't 'eavesdropped' ...”

            Erik laughed. “You wicked thing, you did _not_.”

            “I most certainly _did_. I was young and on the loose in the big city and curious about _everything_ to do with sex. Can you blame me for finding a way to expand my knowledge without the risk of getting caught?”

            “No, I suppose not.”

            They'd finally reached Charles' room. Charles opened the door with a flourish, and pulled him in. “Will you walk into my parlour? ...” he began.

            “... Said the spider to the fly,” Erik finished for him with a laugh, and locked the door behind them without looking.


	15. Deeper Inside / Where do I end, where do you begin

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Finally, sexytimes. The benefits of using one's gifts (especially telepathy) in the sack.
> 
> Um. So I probably should apologize; this is probably NOT as explicit as y'all were expecting/hoping especially given the rating, but I feel like parts of it are detailed enough that it's ... well, I've never been clear on where the boundaries lie between 'Mature' and 'Explicit' so. I prefer to err on the side of caution, sorry for any disappointment.  
> I have real difficulty writing explicit smut, much to my own chagrin. But I'm good at long, drawn out, detailed foreplay?
> 
> Hope you like.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First off, I've added some notes to the main story notes, just giving credit where it's due.
> 
> Probably I shouldn't need to say this but: Yeah, they're having unprotected sex. I don't in any way advocate this. Don't try this at home, folks! Safer sex! BUT: this is 1962, AIDS didn't exist yet, and gay men mostly wouldn't have been using condoms, then. Also: don't use oil-based lube (butter) with condoms. [End PSA] 
> 
> Not related to the current chapter, but remember the rose from the end of chapter 7? Well, I had that idea on my own (not saying other people haven’t thought of it too), and then a couple of days back, [this](http://corvicula1979.tumblr.com/post/121851874440/awesomeshityoucanbuy-steel-metal-rose-flower) went by on tumblr (linking to my reblog of the post cuz I’m lazy).
> 
> Credit: [CHAPTER SPOILER] The concept of a deep, complete mind melding is influenced by Niphrehdil's ["Dark Flowers"](http://archiveofourown.org/works/2214408) (chapter 18 and other places) although I think I'm treating it somewhat differently; the language of lights and stars I'm sure came from there.
> 
> Another big influence for the deep meld, and also their physical intimacy in general over these couple of chapters, is a long quote from Babylon 5, “Mind War” (Season 1 episode 6). Talia Winters, a telepath, is speaking to Commander Sinclair: “Do you know what it's like when telepaths make love, Commander? You drop every defense, and it's all mirrors: reflecting each other's feelings deeper and deeper…until, somewhere along the line, your souls mix. And it's a feeling so profound it makes you hurt. It's the only moment in a telepath's life when you no longer hear the voices.”
> 
> (My fandoms. Let me show you them.)
> 
> Translation and other things:
> 
> Credit for correcting my German goes to [Fianna_Hira](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Fianna_Hira/pseuds/Fianna_Hira), thank you!
> 
> Für mich bist du wunderschön (German) - “to me you are very beautiful”
> 
> mein Karllein (German) – this is absolutely something I made up and I don’t know if an actual German speaker would say it. Mein = “my/mine”, -lein is a way of forming a diminutive, Karl is the German form of Charles. Put it all together, “my little Charles,” but the ‘little’ is an affectionate endearment, not literal. 
> 
> Charles is paraphrasing Antony and Cleopatra, act 2, sc. 2, l. 235-7. 
> 
> Mein Gott. (German) – “my God”

            He tossed his cardigan carelessly onto a chair and sat on the edge of his bed to begin undressing, starting with his feet. Erik followed suit. When he looked up after taking off his shoes and socks, he saw that Erik was silent and still, looking at him with something like awe. He moved over to cradle his face in his hands and asked, gently, “What is it, love?”

            Erik’s voice was low and soft. “This is really happening. I actually get to have you.” He sounded like he couldn’t quite believe it.

            It made Charles’ heart melt a bit more, and he pulled Erik to him for a slow, tender kiss. [That’s where you have it backward. _I’m_ the lucky one. _I_ actually get to have _you_.] “Come on, let's get these clothes out of the way.” Erik started to pull his turtleneck off, until Charles stopped him by taking his hands. [Let me?] he asked. Erik nodded and moved his hands out of the way. He ran his hands up Erik's sides underneath his shirt, then into the sleeves along his arms, pushing the garment off from inside and brushing gently along his skin. Erik closed his eyes in enjoyment until the last moment when he needed to pull the shirt over his head.

            Charles' shirt was already open; Erik moved to unbutton the cuffs before he could react. [My turn.] Belt buckles were next, and he realized Erik had decided to entirely take over the undressing, so he was content to simply stay still and look his fill. He'd had a good idea what he'd see – the tight turtlenecks did not disguise his shape _at all_ – but still, Erik's shirtless torso was very nice to look at. Trouser buttons ... Erik had to unbutton Charles' manually, his own he moved just as he had the buckles, because his trousers had a metal button. _Of course_ they did. “See something you like?” he asked teasingly, noticing his stare.

            “I see quite a lot that I like,” he replied earnestly.

            “Well, there's more to come still.” Their zippers were undone in tandem, and Erik pulled him to his feet and loosely into his arms. One sharp tug downward from Erik's gift on their belt buckles sent their belts, and their trousers along with them, to the floor, leaving them in their briefs. They stepped out of their puddled clothes. Suddenly he felt shy, no, insecure. He'd never felt like that before, when he'd been with women. But here, he couldn't help comparing himself to the ideal masculine form of the man in front of him and coming up short.

*

            Something subtle changed in Charles' body language, and, oh. He not only felt his insecurity, but heard what must be his internal monologue; Charles compared himself to Erik's own, more muscular and traditionally masculine physique, and found himself wanting. Charles wasn't talking to him, but still he felt he should interrupt. [Hush, darling, none of that.] Charles had a smaller build, his muscles lean rather than bulky; and though he was by no means out of shape, the sedentary life of a scholar had left its mark, just enough fat under the skin to soften all his lines and give him a tiny cushion on his middle. He was lovely, and besides, Erik didn't want some idealized manly man, he wanted his Charles ... and how easily that possessive pronoun came. He sat down on the bed without warning, pulling Charles along into a kiss, and making him lean on him for balance. [ _Für mich bist du wunderschön, mein Karllein._ ] He broke the kiss to settle farther back on the bed. “I would not have you be any different. You are small,”

            "I'm not...”

            “... and soft and beautiful and _mine_.” He ran his hands up and down Charles' back, meanwhile willing him to look in his mind and glimpse how he looked in his eyes.

            Perhaps he did, because he flashed a crooked smile and the insecurity was gone. “Who are you calling small and soft?” Charles said in mock challenge.

            “You,” he replied, and brought a hand around to rub his belly. It earned him a laugh. Charles skirted around him and climbed all the way onto his bed, and settled himself in the middle, lounging on his back. He followed promptly and lay on his side, and idly stroked here and there – Charles' arm, his ear. Only when Charles caught his hand and stilled its motion did it occur to him that he was lying on his right side, and therefore using his left arm – his tattooed arm – to touch him. They'd never really discussed it, and they didn't now; while Erik never forgot it, he didn't think about it often. When he did, his thoughts were complicated.

            Charles said nothing, only raised his arm to his mouth and kissed the mark softly. It was the best and sweetest reaction he could have hoped for: acknowledgement, acceptance, affection, and all with no fuss. He felt a swell of affection – how did he manage to be so damn _perfect_? - and curled his arm to gently hug Charles' head. Charles did not let him be for long, and kissed him a bit farther up his arm, and then again. [I should confess,] he said, [I'd sworn to myself I'd let you sort things out and not push you, but ... I probably would have confronted you tonight, even if we weren't on the brink of war.]

            Charles was licking and nibbling at the sensitive skin on the inside of his elbow, and it was hard to divide his attention to make a reply. “Why tonight? What changed?”

            [Do you remember what you dreamed last night?]

            It took him a moment, and came to him only slowly. It had been an erotic dream, he remembered, and Charles had featured in it ... “Oh.” He flushed. “Did you ... share my dream, then?”

            [I did.] He continued working his way up the inside of his arm. [It made it pretty damn clear to me what you wanted, even if you denied it.]

            “I'm sorry, that must have been frustrating.”

            Charles paused in his ministrations to speak aloud. “You have _no_ idea.” [I woke up from it and I was hard as steel.] Charles had levered himself onto his side to get better access to lap at his armpit and, oh, he'd not imagined it would be so _exquisitely_ sensitive. [And ... do you remember waking up?]

            “Yes, you called out to me in my mind ...” It took a moment for him to connect the dots, and he sucked in a deep breath in reaction. [So you took your pleasure thinking of me, and you decided you'd prefer the real thing to your imagination and your hand.]

            [Yes. And it showed how untenable and ridiculous the whole situation was. It's such a relief to be honest and open with each other. No more hiding.]

            [Not anymore,] he replied, and sent Charles a taste of what he was feeling.

            Charles replied in kind, a little more strongly. [So ...] he started, and left it hanging a moment while he shifted position. Suddenly the wet heat of his mouth was on his nipple and he gasped. [What exactly do you want to do?] He didn't let up for even a moment, tongue circling and flicking and teasing.

            [You. .... Why would you ... ask a question ... and then make it ... impossible ... to answer?] he managed to get out.

            Charles pulled off. [Sorry,] he said, but he wasn't in the least.

            [I hadn't given it much detailed thought yet. You, in whatever way I can have you.] He rolled Charles onto his back, and lay on top of him, letting Charles take as much of his weight as was comfortable, and rested their foreheads together, so close that he couldn't focus on Charles' eyes. “And what do you want to do, exactly?” He was surprised at how rough his voice had become.

            “Everything, all at once,” Charles replied with a laugh. It was a joke because he knew it was impossible, not because he wanted it any less, even so. His arms circled Erik's waist and his hands reached into his shorts to caress his buttocks. [I want you inside me,] Charles said decisively, then added more tentatively, [That is, if that's what you ...]

            He interrupted, faster than he could consciously think about it, [YES.] He said it forcefully enough that even if they hadn't been speaking mind-to-mind, Charles would have 'overheard' it ... from Boston, probably. He crashed their mouths together in a sloppy, hungry kiss. [You'll need to ... show me what I need to do, though.]

            [It would be my pleasure and privilege, love. But there's no hurry, and a lot of other things I want to explore.]

            [Me too. Every inch of you.] Charles made a pleased little hum of agreement and stayed quiet while Erik illustrated by peppering the rest of his face with light kisses. He worked his way over to an ear, and the soft skin below it, to his neck, Charles' pulse fluttering under his lips. Abruptly the mood changed from tenderness to _want_ , and he sucked and bit Charles' neck, getting all the best spots ... Oh. He got the best spots because _he was picking up from Charles' mind_ where he wanted him to suck and bite. It wasn't verbal directions, or even a mental image; he just _knew_. Well, that was helpful, and he was not about to question it, not when using that knowledge led to Charles moaning and squeaking beneath him, his neck arching into his mouth and the rest of his body clinging to his. No, he was not going to question it _at all_ , he was going to attend happily to his task. He realized, too, that his own pleasure came not just from having a pliant, flushed body pressed up to his own, but because Charles' arousal resonated back to him. It was a heady sensation.

            They continued like this for several minutes until Charles told him, [Stop, please,] in a tone that would have been described as breathless if he'd been speaking aloud. He knew that it was only because Charles wanted to cool off a bit, and gave him a playful nip on the collarbone before he pulled away slightly.

            [That's amazing, knowing what you want me to do.]

            [And the way it feeds back between us,] Charles added.

            [Is it always like this for you?]

            Charles hesitated for a couple of seconds before he replied. [No, I never ... all the girls were regular humans, I never openly used my gifts with them. So, no, it's not always like this for me. You're the first person I've been this ... open with, in general, let alone in bed.]

            [That's a pity. To be able to share so much ... your power is so beautiful.]

            [People fear it, and for good reason. You know well what I could do to you.] Erik's hand moved without his conscious direction to cup Charles' jaw. Charles had briefly taken over part of his motor control to prove his point.

            He laughed fondly, and stroked Charles' cheek with his thumb. [I will never fear your gifts, _Liebling_. And if you really want to control my body to make me touch you, I won't argue, but it's hardly necessary.]

            [I do want to apologize for deepening the connection earlier, without asking you.]

            [It's not a problem.]

            [There's something else I want to do.]

            [Yes?]

            “I want to take you deeper inside than I ever have before.”

*

            “I want to take you deeper inside than I ever have before.”

            “I do believe that's the point of the exercise,” Erik retorted, smiling. Charles knew he was only pretending to misunderstand, because he could feel Erik's emotional reaction as it sunk in, positive and affectionate.

            “I meant in my _mind_ ,” [you tit.] He paused to gather his thoughts, because this was a very serious request, and a big leap. [I've never done anything similar before, I don't even know what is possible ... I want to be deeper in your mind, and you deeper in mine, as intertwined as we can get, as blended together as we can get ...] Words failed him, because (as always) language just didn't have the right words to describe his telepathic life.

            Fortunately, Erik seemed to understand. [Like the way, when people make love, it's ... it's the closest you can get, but what you really want to do is melt into the other person's skin ... except, crawling into each other's heads?] Erik's words were just as imprecise as his own, but he did have the right idea.

            [Yes, that's the gist of it. No holding back, no barriers.]

            [Let's do it.]

            [Are you agreeing because I want it or ...]

            [ _Yes_ , I want it too. You shouldn't have to ask, you know what I'm feeling, just _listen_.] And Erik _pushed_ his emotional response at him, how his heart sang at the idea, how he loved their mental connection and wanted to wrap himself in it.

            He could only ride the emotional wave while it lasted. “Well, then,” he breathed. [If it's going to be that powerful, I had better not do it all at once.]

            [I think if we share senses, though, well, mainly sharing the sense of touch, while we're touching each other ... that would get very confusing.]

            [Agreed.] The same thought had occurred to him too, and he hoped he could exclude their physical senses while they shared everything else.

            [There's something I want to try, too,] Erik said.

            [Okay, but first ...] he tugged at the waistband of Erik's briefs. [May I?] Erik nodded and once Charles had pulled them down as far as he could reach, he rolled onto his side and kicked them off. Charles made short work of his own and turned to face Erik. “That's much better,” he said, and pulled them together for a slow kiss, and pressed skin to skin from chest to knee. He carefully didn't move, to avoid stimulating either of their partial erections. It was tempting, but he wanted to take his time, and he was genuinely curious to find out what Erik had in mind. He broke the kiss and asked, “So?”

            “Would you turn onto your stomach, please?”

            He did as he was asked, but turned his face towards Erik and asked, “Okay, why?”

            Erik chuckled under his breath as he bent over to suck at the nape of his neck. [For one thing, I've not paid enough attention to this side of you yet.] He moved a few inches down his spine and kissed again. [I already suspected that your gift would be useful in the bedroom, but I wasn't sure about mine.] Another couple of inches, another kiss.

            “Not everybody's is. I'm pretty sure there is _no_ possible erotic application for Alex's plasma blasts.”

            Erik's laughter was a pleasant vibration on his back. [If there is, I definitely don't want to know. Remember when we worked on very fine control?]

            “Yes.”

           Erik retreated to his original position on his side. “I've been practising. You should lie still and ... This is fairly subtle, so try and focus on what you feel.” Erik let his hand hover over the small of Charles' back, not touching, not close enough to feel the heat from his skin. At first he felt nothing out of the ordinary, but slowly he became aware of the ebb and flow of the blood in his vessels. Then he felt the blood move ... unusually; he couldn't describe it more precisely than that. Erik moved his hand, not staying long in any one place and the sensation moved with his hand. At first the experience was more odd than anything else, but once he got used to it, it was rather lovely, a warm sort of a tingle, and gently soothing. He moved it around all over his back, slowly.

            “Mmm, that's very clever. You're manipulating ... the red blood cells, like you did with the cow's blood?”

            “Yes. What do you think?”

            “It's very nice.”

            “I was hoping for a bit more than 'nice.'”

            “Well ...” He turned over onto his back, and pressed a quick kiss to the palm of Erik's guiding hand. “Perhaps we should try someplace more sensitive, then.” Erik didn't reply, only used his power as he had been to raise a flush in Charles' cheek ... well, more of a flush than was already there. It felt like a fond offering. “Can I look?” he asked, meaning, could he tap into Erik's metal-sense to feel how this delicate manipulation felt to him.

            “Of course.” Erik moved his hand and his attentions to his neck, and Charles slipped into that part of his consciousness. His focus was narrowed, excluding all the other nearby metal, to the tiny, precious specks of blood cells, bright and warm in his perception. He made them dance and shiver to his will in minuscule motions. Separately, he could feel Erik's quiet pride at this latest achievement.

            Then Erik moved on to a spot he'd bitten earlier, and made the blood rush into the bruised area, and it throbbed, it _ached_ in the best sort of way. He gasped. Erik gave him a wolfish smile and moved on to do the same to _every single one_ of the bite marks he'd left. Had there really been that many of them, or was he going back and revisiting some? He was panting by the time Erik was done with his neck. He pulled Erik's head forcefully to him to engage in a needy kiss. [Stop toying with me,] he growled.

            [Oh, I'm not _quite_ done with this,] Erik replied. [I'll reward your patience,] he promised. Erik pulled his mouth away, although not far; their faces were still close enough for their breaths to mingle. He slipped a hand between their chests, still not touching, and drew tingling blood into his nipple. Over and over, again and again and _again_. He squeezed his eyes shut to focus on feeling. It was wonderful, it was exquisite, and the little nub was _so very_ sensitive, but it wasn't enough by itself. If only he would touch it, just do _something_ , it was _maddening_ ...

            Erik's weight shifted and then lips and tongue were warm and wet on his nipple, and he shuddered in anticipation. Erik began to suckle.

            He _screamed_.

            And the sensation had gone straight to his cock like a bolt of fire. He thought he'd been hard already but now it _hurt_.

            [Vocal, are we, love? You should save your screaming for later,] Erik commented without pausing for a moment. The hypersensitivity lasted several heartbeats, each suck so pleasurable it was on the knife-edge of pain, but it dissipated, leaving him at a more normal level of enjoyment. He found himself still whining while Erik continued.

            “Fuck. Cheeky bastard,” he finally managed to respond. He opened his eyes and relaxed all the muscles he'd tensed without realizing it. Several breaths later: “Nice trick, that.”

            Erik pulled off his chest with a parting flick of his tongue – he twitched - and looked up at him. His pupils were large with arousal, and had been for some time, but he still managed to have mischief in his eyes too. “Should I try it on your ...” He moved his hand down towards Charles' groin, and Charles grasped his wrist tightly, interrupting the motion and the sentence both.

            “God, no. I don't think any more blood could _fit_.”

            “There's something to be said for touching you directly, too,” Erik said, lazily running fingers down his side.

            “I agree, love.” He idly toyed with Erik's hair and stroked his ear.

            Erik pressed a kiss to his collar, then began to lick a long stripe straight down the centre of his chest. [Also, there's something I pledged to follow up on.]

            Erik had reached his navel by the time he realized what he'd meant, remembering their words before they'd left the library. [You don't _have_ to, just because you said that.]

            [I know, _Schatz_ , but I _want_ to.] He could feel it was true.

            [Well then, by all m ...]

            Erik's mouth engulfing him chased away any more thought. This time, he managed to keep his reaction to a rather loud moan.

 

            When coherence returned, he had three thoughts. First, that it was probably impossible not to have good technique when one had a telepathic connection to hear the semi-conscious thoughts of 'just needs to be a little harder' and 'oh yes right _there_ ' and the like. Second, that it wasn't just the abstract happiness of giving pleasure to one's partner, Erik had been _enjoying_ himself. He felt Erik's sudden sharp surprise [!!] at the thought. [You're right, I _was_.] And third, no matter that his body needed time to recover, he wanted to do more _now_. “Mm.” Erik agreed. He'd rolled off to one side, and now moved upward to kiss him. [Despite having just made a meal of you, I find that I'm still _hungry_.] His mental voice was heavy with desire.

            Charles thought the taste of his own come on his lover's tongue was the most deliciously _filthy_ thing ever, to say nothing of what that tongue was _doing_ to his mouth. He couldn't help but moan into the kiss. [I know, love. _Others cloy the appetites they feed, but he makes hungry where most he satisfies_.]

            Erik broke the kiss with a smile and carded fingers in his hair. “Did you just quote Shakespeare to me _in bed_?”

            “Well, paraphrased him, to be accurate. I admit I'm not in any state to quote the act and scene, though.”

            Erik let out a snort of stifled laughter, and returned to kissing him, more playfully this time. [You are an impossible and ridiculous man, _mein Liebling_.]

            [Would you have me be any other way, honestly?]

            [Not for a moment.]

            He broke the kiss but kept his face close, and raked the back of Erik's neck with his nails. “You know, I think it's my turn.”

            “Hmm?” Erik arched his neck into the scratch.

            “You've been doing things to me, now it's my turn. So,” he poked Erik's shoulder, “Get off me, and on your back, if you would.”

            “Bossy,” Erik teased, but did as he'd been asked.

            Charles curled into Erik's side and rested his head on his shoulder, and let his hand wander with no specific purpose. He'd laid his leg over Erik's, and when he shifted position without thinking, to get more comfortable, his thigh bumped against Erik's erection and he hissed. It hadn't been intentional, but ... “Would you like some help with that? I could, er, return the favour, if you want.”

            Erik's response was confusing. What he said was “no,” and his surface thoughts matched, but a deeper level said _yes_ , and an image flashed across Erik's mind so immediately that it must have been something he pictured often. The picture was of how he'd look going down on Erik, intensely focused on swollen, stretched red lips.

            “You're rather fixated on my mouth,” he commented.

            Erik turned and shifted to kiss him deeply. [It's very tempting.]

            [But I don't know ...] Erik bit his lower lip, and it felt so good it interrupted his thought. [I don't know what to make of your response.]

            Erik chuckled into his mouth. [In a general sense, _hell_ yes, I'd like that. But not right now.] He broke the kiss and continued aloud. “I have other plans for this hard-on, and I'm just waiting for you to be ready.”

            The gravel of desire in Erik's voice was affecting, and so was knowing what he meant. Charles' own voice was shaky when he replied, “Okay ... is there something you _would_ like me to do?”

            “Whatever you like, so long as it's not ...”

            “Aiming to get you off.”

            “Yes.”

            “Okay. I can work with that.” He was happy to just explore, anyway. He moved to the foot of the bed. “I think I'll start from the bottom and work my way up.” He started by massaging Erik's foot, then sucking on his toes. He worked his way up his body methodically, rubbing or caressing or kissing or biting as the mood struck him, occasionally tickling just to relax things a little. He listened to Erik's unconscious directions but didn't always follow them. Erik passively let him do as he wished, but he had to resist the urge to grab him and take over; his mind became more and more tightly coiled with the tension of holding back.

            The tension finally snapped when he was kissing and biting at Erik's neck. With a moan of frustration, Erik flipped their positions, held his shoulders down and hovered above him, looking straight down into his eyes. “Tell me you're done,” he growled.

            Perhaps he hadn't gotten Erik to beg, but he'd gotten plenty of trembles and whimpers out of him with his teasing, and that was good enough for him. Charles smirked and tried very hard not to laugh. “Evidently I'm done.”

            “Good, because I've been desperate to fuck you for at least the last five minutes.” [And I know I can't just ... stick it in. Tell me what I need to do.]

            [Well, everything needs to be slicked up within an inch of its life, and I need ...] Rather than explaining in words how to prepare him, he showed him in pictures.

            [So, do you have something around here to use for lubrication?]

            [There's a dish of butter over on my dresser. I'd get it, but I'm a little trapped here.]

            “ _Butter_?”

            “Shut up, it will work fine. And I hate Vaseline.”

            Erik twisted around to find the butter. “The silver dish is a nice touch,” he commented as he floated it over.

            “Thought you'd like that.” [Are you going to let me move so I can do this?]

            [Let me do it for you?] Erik sat back on his haunches, and set the dish down on the bed.

            [Yes, please.] He turned onto his stomach and spread his legs to give better access. Erik was very slow and careful in working him open, and muttered sweet things under his breath as he worked. Charles was as patient as he could manage, but three fingers later he was squirming and frantic, pushing back onto Erik's hand. [That's more than enough, love. Come on, I need you _now_.]

            Erik withdrew his fingers and caressed his ass cheek. [Turn over, I want to be face-to-face.] When he had turned onto his back and they had arranged their limbs as they wanted, Erik lined himself up and asked, “Are you ready?”

            He nodded and clasped Erik's free hand in his own. “Are you ready,” he put his fingers to his temple, “for this?”

            “More than ready.”

            And he opened their minds to each other all the way as Erik sank home into him.

*

drowning in sea blue eyes as I sink into your body as I dive into your mind your soul your heart ....

all your strength coiled, held in check, your passion hot as the sun but so gentle, too gentle, you won't break me, put your back into it, let loose your strength your heat your light ...

thoughts emotions dreams memories each a little light you're a city at night, constellations, galaxies, the milky way spilled across my heart my mind my body ....

leave the storm in your eyes banish it from your soul tonight, fragile cracked heart broken open and I'll fill the fissures with honey, with joy, let me be your mortar, you don't need to hold yourself together anymore ...

so strong so beautiful hands in your curls I want to bite your legs they're so juicy, hands clinging to your ass like life itself so hot so full so tight so perfect

your pleasure my pleasure separate but entwined coiled together climbing each pulling the other higher where do I end where do you begin does it even matter oh my god, don't close your eyes, look at me, I want to see you come undone

 

Together. As if we were one flesh. Seared by lightning and little shocks still linger.

I think I might faint.

_Mein Gott._

Soft, tired kisses. Pull you into the circle of my arms, heads nestled together, you fit like you were made for my embrace, _mein Schatz_.

Hold you fast deep in my mind, don't surface, take comfort, rest in my soul as I rest in your arms, my love.

 

There was no need for words as they lay together afterwards. Occasionally a hand would caress, or they'd explore a hidden corner of memory, but mostly they were happy to just _be_ , relishing their complete union.

[This is incredible! Listen. It's so quiet. All I can hear is us, the voices are gone.]

[Feel the power, incandescent with strength, I want to stretch it out ...]

They reached together out with Erik's metal sense. Everything felt light, easy, the largest structures mere toys to his gift. The satellite dish made three full turns before they felt the strain of overexertion. They didn't need to look out the window to see what they'd done.

“It's not just about focus, is it? It's strong emotion, too.” [And it doesn't need to be rage.]


	16. Exactly where I wanted to be / Never doubt it

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Morning after fluff.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! It really helps with my motivation when I get comments and kudos.
> 
> Given what's happened in the real world since my last installment, and if y'all are reading a slashfic I assume you're allies at least ... Happy Pride, and YAY! for the SCOTUS decision! (I'm Canadian and we've had marriage equality for like a decade up here, but still it's a momentous day.) 
> 
> Charles’ first quote (and Erik continues the quote) is from William Blake’s “The Tyger”
> 
> Charles’ second quote is the final two lines of Shakespeare’s Sonnet 109
> 
> Erik’s quote is from Heinrich Heine’s “Hast du die Lippen mir wund geküßt.” I found the text and an English translation [here](http://lovepoems.inrebus.com/2009/04/heinrich-heine-hast-du-die-lippen-mir-wund-gekusst-1.html)
> 
> Ich liebe dich (German) – I love you  
> ‘Yk lybʻ dyk. (Yiddish) – I love you. I know Yiddish is supposed to be written in the Hebrew alphabet, not Roman letters, but I’m used to seeing things transliterated, okay? This is the transliteration suggested by Google translate.

            Erik woke from a deep and dreamless sleep, more refreshed than he remembered being in a long time, and blissfully relaxed. They'd shifted in their sleep. He woke on his back, Charles curled against his side, with his head pillowed on his shoulder, and his arm draped across his stomach; his own arm was curled around Charles' back. Charles was still asleep, but he could feel it was the shallow sleep just before waking. And since when was he able to sense such things? He turned onto his side so he could put both arms around his lover, and squeezed him tightly around the ribs. He leaned in to nibble gently at Charles' earlobe as he started to stir.

            [Good morning, lover,] Charles said to him, and turned his head to kiss his lips, a brief peck 'hello', and then shifted back to look up at him, while raising a hand to trace the lines of his face with one finger. A smile spread across Charles' face which was several shades too sweet to be smug, even if he was radiating self-satisfaction.

            [It is a good morning indeed. You seemed pleased with yourself.]

            [Aren't you? I'm exactly where I've wanted to be for some time.]

            [What I don't understand is how you manage to look so beatific the morning after doing what most religions consider terrible sin.]

            Charles laughed out loud, shaking in his arms with it. Erik couldn't help but chuckle a little as well. It took some time before Charles worked past his mirth to respond. [Maybe they've gotten it all wrong? Maybe I'm secretly a saint, the new patron saint of buggery?] The last was said jokingly.

            Erik felt himself blushing. [I hope not, if that means I need to share you. You're _mine_ , dammit.]

            A wave of pleased affection. [I am. Perhaps I am your own personal patron saint, then?]

            He laughed aloud and ruffled Charles' sleep-tousled hair. [You really do look like the cat that got the cream.]

            Charles' grin turned impish, then he licked his lips suggestively and said, “Meow.” [Seriously, though, no regrets this morning, tiger?] The endearment came with an image of Charles as a fat, lazy ginger tom, following behind Erik as a tiger as he prowled through the halls.

            He changed the image in his mind to a more energetic Charles-cat hunting Erik-tiger's tail and sent the thought with a laugh. [Only that we didn't do it much sooner. And that you've ruined me for anyone else.]

            [I wouldn't have it any other way, my heart of hearts. _You_ are mine, too.] The cat groomed the tiger's face, sitting between his front paws; Charles pressed up close to him, every possible inch of skin making contact, and kissed him, open-mouthed and languid. [Hmm, let's just stay in bed all day, tiger puss.]

            [Minx. You know we can't, we have a world to save, remember? I’ll have to take a rain check on the lazy morning in bed together.] He swatted Charles' backside playfully, and his startlement broke the kiss. [If you're my patron saint, aren't you supposed to be the one with a strong moral compass?]

            [To hell with moral compasses. Only compass I have right now is pointed at you, mister magnetic personality. And you’re in my bed, so that’s where the compass is pointing me.]

            [Well, that’s easily changed.] He gently disentangled himself from Charles’ limbs and stole one more quick kiss before rising from bed. [We both need to clean up, and we need to have a good breakfast, before our appointment with Hank and his airplane,] he added as he walked towards the en-suite. He felt Charles watching him from the bed, unapologetically appreciating the rear view.

            He was adjusting the water temperature in the shower when the bathroom door opened. Charles peered around the edge. “Following your lead, magnetic north,” he said. “If that’s alright?”

            “Of course it is. As long as you don’t plan on seducing me in the shower.”

            “No?” Charles pouted jokingly. Erik just glared at him. “I know, I know. Busy day ahead and all that. I’ll behave, I promise, my little lion.”

            Erik stepped under the spray and offered Charles a hand to step into the tub. [Are you going to keep coming up with bizarre pet names for me?]

            [Does it bother you?]

            [Not at all. But we need a ground rule here. That ridiculous codename Raven gave me. If you ever use it in bed, I'm throwing you _out_ of bed so fast your head will spin.]

            [I can agree to that, with one condition of my own. The same goes for mine.]

            [I wouldn't dream of it, darling. So, last night we were dogs, this morning we are cats, are we working our way through Order Carnivora?]

            [Hmmmm, maybe,] Charles replied, stroking Erik's morning stubble, [grizzly bear.]

            [Cub.]

            [Honey badger.]

            [Really? Silly mongoose.]

            They continued that way for a while as they washed, amiably trading epithets that were somewhere between endearments and good-natured insults. Charles kept to his promise and behaved himself except for a few stolen kisses. For his part, Erik hadn't anticipated how sensual a shared shower could be, especially with a shamelessly, happily projecting telepath. Charles asked him to wash his hair, and then shared the pure physical enjoyment he derived from it. [You’re being a cat again,] Erik commented, imagining (and sharing) the ginger tom that represented Charles revelling in the bliss of being scratched in just the right place.

            [I could do yours, too,] Charles suggested.

            [It's not long enough to be worth it.]

            [That's not actually the point.]

            Erik gave what he could only describe as a mental shrug. [Some other time, maybe. Would you scrub my back, though?]

            [Love to.] As he set to work, he asked, [Do you know why I called you a tiger, rather than some other big cat?]

            [Well, I wasn’t orange and striped last time I checked, so, no.]

            [It’s because of Blake. _In what distant deeps or skies. Burnt the fire of thine eyes? On what wings dare he aspire? What the hand, dare seize the fire?_ ]

            [ _And what shoulder, & what art, Could twist the sinews of thy heart? And when thy heart began to beat, What dread hand? & what dread feet? _So you see me as a predator come to devour you?]

            [Only in the best of ways,] Charles replied, and that was definitely a _leer_ in his mental voice. He continued in a more serious tone, [I know it's not exactly a love poem. And it’s only part of how I see you.]

            [This quoting poetry - it's a side of you that I've not seen before. Well, before last night.]

            [A good side?]

            [I like it.]

            [Then I’ll have to start wooing you with verse. Perhaps some more Shakespeare? _For nothing this wide universe I call, Save thou, my rose; in it thou art my all_.]

            [Well, I may not be as familiar with the sonnets as you, but I'm sure I know some poetry you've never heard.]

            [Oh? Try me.]

            Erik smiled. [It's not quite so lovely as yours, I admit. _Hast du die Lippen mir wund geküßt, So küsse sie wieder heil, Und wenn du bis Abend nicht fertig bist, So hat es auch keine Eil._ ]

            [Apparently my literary education has some holes in it.]

            [It's Heine. Those holes including anything that's not in English, I'd guess?]

            [You'll have to educate me, then.]

            As soon as they were done and Erik had turned the water off, Charles embraced him from behind. He pressed himself tightly to Erik’s back, his head turned to rest his cheek on the back of his neck, both arms around his chest and his left hand unerringly placed over his heart. Erik covered his arms and hands with his own. Charles spoke aloud, now that being heard over the running water was no longer a concern. “Erik?” He could feel his lips moving against his skin.

            “Mmm?”

            “I love you.” He was oddly hesitant both in his voice and his emotion. Erik was surprised and didn't reply right away, instead squeezing Charles' hands. Met with silence, he began to worry. “It's too soon, isn't it? Oh no, I'm sorry, I ...” He felt his lover's happiness begin to crumble and his distress increase.

            [Hush, Charles,] he said, and tried to project his own feelings strongly. He broke from the limpet-like embrace just long enough to turn around so they stood face to face. He took Charles' left hand in his right and placed their joined hands over Charles' heart, echoing the earlier gesture, and then drew him tight with his other arm, trapping their hands between them. Charles started to burrow his face into his shoulder, until he told him, “Look at me,” and he did, those impossibly blue eyes full of uncertainty. “ _Ich liebe dich, mein Schatz. 'Yk lybʻ dyk._ Little cub, I _adore_ you. Never doubt it.” Charles finally started to smile. “You just caught me off-guard. Do I need to say it in French? In Spanish?” [In your mind?]

            Hearing the words seemed to be enough for Charles, who radiated love and contentment again. “No, I don’t believe that will be necessary,” he replied with good humour.

            “Really, darling, there was no need to fret. If you’d just listened to your gift instead of what I hadn’t said, you would have known.”

            “Stupid of me, I know.”

            “Perhaps a little. But understandable.” A stray draft made him shiver, and he stepped out of the tub. “Come on, we can’t stay in here all morning,” he said, and pulled Charles along by their still-joined hands. And before Charles could grab a towel for himself, he threw one over his head and rubbed his hair roughly through it, and laughed at his feigned indignation.

*

            The group split up briefly so they could change into their uniforms in privacy. The others didn't have to know that they changed together, helping each other with zippers and straps as necessary. “I know everyone else thinks these are garish ....” Erik began.

            “Because they are,” Charles replied. On the other hand, the high collars did cover most of their hickeys.

            “ ... But I like it on you.”

            “Of course you do,” he said, while absently adjusting the tight garment. “It's very ... form-fitting.”

            “And I certainly appreciate that.” Erik tightened a final buckle and moved closer, and stroked the line of Charles' jaw. “It also brings out your eyes.”

            In response to his compliment, he just smiled and squeezed his hand. He worried how Erik would take what he was about to say. “Sweetheart,” he began hesitantly. Erik wordlessly encouraged him to continue. “I know I said last night that the others could shove off if they had a problem with us ...”

            “But right now, we need them. I know.”

            “And if everyone is thinking about the two of us, not about the mission, things could go badly. So we'll need to be ... as we were before, in front of them.”

            “Of course. I will be discreet.” There was no upset feeling from him, only pragmatic agreement.

            “Thank you for understanding, love. I was worried you'd be upset.” He rested his forehead against his lover's, bringing nose to nose and their lips close together. “I'm not ashamed of us,” he said softly.

            “Nor am I,” Erik replied, and gave him one last kiss before they rejoined the rest.


	17. It felt like something sacred

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The flight to Cuba, basically: from the airbase to the sub.  
> The boys talk some more about last night. And discuss naughty things telepathically.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the wait since the last update! Sometimes the muses are fickle, and sometimes I get distracted.  
> But you're getting a whole bunch in a row tonight. :)
> 
> translations:  
> Liebe (German): Love, literally (as in the emotion), and also as an affectionate pet name.

            When they arrived at the airbase and caught up with Hank ... well, that explained a lot, actually. He knew the scientist had been working on something to normalize the appearance of those with physical mutations. Presumably, it had backfired. The young man was already tall, but now he was _huge_ , broad and muscular, his face altered into something more animalistic, and he was covered in blue fur. 'Man's animal nature,' indeed. Hank had already been having enough trouble accepting his mutation before this ... it explained the distress he'd felt from him last night, and it explained the trashed workspace. He would have his work cut out for him in coaxing Hank back to some level of self-acceptance.

            He listened to everyone's reactions with half his attention, and, oh, nicely said, Raven ... and then Erik said to Hank, “Never looked better, man.” He knew Erik was sincere. Whenever they had encountered a visible physical mutation, he'd been fascinated. He'd liked Angel's wings, he thought Raven was beautiful in blue, even though he disliked Emma Frost as a person he was intrigued by her diamond form. And before the transformation, he'd been utterly charmed by Hank's prehensile feet and what they allowed him to do.

            Unfortunately, _Hank_ didn't realize that. He reached over and lifted Erik with one powerful hand around his neck. “Hank,” Charles said warningly.

            Hank paid him no attention. He growled at Erik. “Don't mock me!”

            Erik was quickly becoming red in the face. Hank's grip wasn't tight enough to choke him, but his own weight might do so gradually. He sensed only mild fear from Erik, entirely real fear for his own safety but rather less than most people would have experienced. _He_ was the one who was in danger of panicking at his young friend attacking his lover. He tried to keep his voice stern and steady and not wavering with his abject fear. “Hank, put him down immediately, please.” Still no reaction. “Hank. Hank!” he repeated himself, his worry slipping through in his voice. [Hank, put him down now or I will _make_ you,] he said to the scientist's mind, not wanting to voice the threat in front of the others. He was a heartbeat away from carrying out his threat when Hank finally released his grip on Erik with another growl, and Erik collapsed in a heap on the floor while he regained his breath.

            “I wasn't,” Erik said defiantly.

*

            When they all boarded and arranged themselves in the plane, Charles ended up sitting across from him, not beside him as he would have liked. [Nobody would have batted an eye if you sat next to me,] he pointed out. [We do it often enough.]

            [That's true,] Charles agreed, [but if I sat beside you I wouldn't be able to resist ...] Instead of finishing the sentence verbally, he sent an image of himself cuddled into Erik's side as they sat together. [And _that_ , the others would certainly notice. I wish we could,] he added wistfully. [Perhaps a little compromise?] he said ... and Erik felt Charles' hand slide into his own, their fingers lacing together, except that his hand was empty. It was Charles making his nerves feel a hand that wasn't there.

            He wished he could squeeze the phantom hand. [Thank you,] he said, and [Nice trick.]

            They both fell into conversation with the others for a time. Some of it was about what they expected of the day, their thoughts and fears; some was just chatter. When the group conversation had run out of steam, Charles went forward to talk to Hank for a while. The phantom hand stayed clasped in his, as it would until they reached Cuba and more pressing matters needed Charles' attention.

            When Charles returned to his seat, there was still a long way to go to their destination, and they fell to talking again. [How is he?] Erik asked, inclining his head towards the cockpit to indicate Hank. [I know it's not really my business ...]

            [But you're worried, I know. He can hold it together as long as he needs to, but when this is all over, I don't know. He's sorry for attacking you, he wanted me to tell you.]

            [He should be telling me himself.]

            [I told him so. He's nervous. I'm glad you're not angry with him.]

            [It's just a few more bruises, and I'm glad to see him showing some aggression. I was starting to wonder if he had any.]

            [Not _everyone_ has to be aggressive, you know.]

            [Yes, but we're heading into a fight. If he can contribute more than his piloting skills, that's an asset to us.]

            [We'll see. Can I change the subject?]

            [Sure.]

            [Something I was wondering about ... Can we talk about us, or is that distracting?]

            [Of course we can.]

            [How is it that you're so sure, now? After you fought it so much?] Charles asked. Their eyes met, and Charles must have seen something sharp in his gaze, because he added, [Don't get me wrong, I don't doubt your certainty, I can _feel_ how sure you are about me. I just don't understand. It's a huge change, and it seems very sudden.]

            [It's _because_ I fought so long. When you finally decided to push, you were kicking down a rotten door. And it's not like I was going from zero to love overnight – the feelings were there for a long time, just ... hidden, even from myself.]

            [I know, love. Growing under the surface, and perhaps all the stronger because you fought against it.]

            [The other reason I am so sure is ... We've been taught to believe this is _wrong_ ...]

            [Not to mention unnatural and mentally disordered ...]

            [And of course _you_ knew better, but _I_ still believed that. I just decided I didn't care if it was wrong, I was going to do what I wanted anyway.] He paused and caught Charles' eyes with a soft smile. [But I discovered I'd been thinking about it all wrong.]

            [Oh? Do enlighten me, then.]

            [It's the exact opposite. If I still thought it was wrong in the back of my mind, I might doubt what I feel. But being with you last night, both physically and mentally – I cannot believe it to be wrong. Nothing in my life has ever felt so _right_.]

            Charles sent a wave of affirmation and love. [On that, we are entirely in agreement, my friend.]

            He raised an eyebrow in amusement. [ _Friend_ , is it?]

            [It hasn't ceased to be true, after all.]

            [No, it has not.] They sat in comfortable silence for a time until he felt moved to speak again. [And, _Schatzi_ , never let anyone tell you that your telepathy is anything other than a beautiful thing.]

            [I believe you already said that last night, before I proceeded to take control of your hand. Is there something else you're trying to say, love?] Charles asked him softly. The words could have been patronizing in another context, but they were gently encouraging.

            Still, Erik hesitated. He knew his thoughts might sound out of character, and he couldn't bear it if Charles scorned them. [I'm worried about what you'll think.]

            [No judgement, darling, I promise.]

            [You know I'm not a spiritual person, Charles, but when our minds were so completely ...] he trailed off, grasping for the right word.

            [Mingled?] Charles suggested.

            He nodded. It was as good a word as any. [It felt like something sacred.]

            Charles was quiet and thoughtful for a while, which he took as a positive sign; he wasn't dismissing it immediately. [I admit I wasn't thinking along those lines, but there is something transcendent about it. If you want to call it sacred, I won't object to that.]

            [In any case, beautiful. As you said, transcendent.]

            Charles sent him, again, a feeling of profound agreement and then turned an impish smile his way. [Perhaps we should call that deepest joining ... our _communion_?]

            Erik snorted and rolled his eyes. [How very _Catholic_ of you.] Charles laughed, but Erik continued, [Still, it's actually a pretty good description. When this is over – if we come out the other side – all I want to do is to crawl into your bed again ...]

            [And into my head?] Charles finished for him, anticipating what he meant to say next. Clearly he felt his surprise because he added, [No, I didn't pick that up from your mind. I just know you well enough.]

            He laughed internally. [God, we only started this last night and we're already one of those couples that finish each other's sentences.]

            [We were finishing each other's sentences already, my friend. But really, Erik, _crawling_ into my bed?] He felt Charles' surprise and, though he didn't say it in words, he sensed that his surprise was because he thought it was unlike him to do something so submissive.

            [For you, yes. But love, this business of who's in charge, who has the power ... let's not have any of that between us.]

            [You liked it last night, alpha dog.]

            [As I recall, you were the one who started that by saying you'd make me beg.]

            [And of course you had to accept the challenge.]

            [Of course I did. Have you ever known me not to?] He smiled. [But these dominance games are just that ... games. If I wrestle you down, or if I crawl to you in supplication, it's because I want to. It's not because one of us is better than the other. We are equals, my friend.] This last he said with utter seriousness.

            Charles sent him soft affection. [Always, my love. Always.] The hand he felt, still a figment, squeezed his own.

            There was a comfortable lull in their conversation. For his part, he was daydreaming about things he wanted to do together, now that they were a couple, from the sentimental to the sexual and everywhere in between. Then a thought occurred to him and he broke their silence because it was too delightful not to share. [ _Liebe_ ,] he began, drawing Charles' attention out of his own thoughts. [I just had a wonderful idea. Strip chess.]

            Charles broke out in a gale of laughter. [Oh, love ... that's just ...] He couldn't even finish his sentence, he was laughing so hard both outside and in.

            It got the attention of everyone else sitting with them. They all stared. It was Raven who spoke up. “What, exactly, is so funny?”

            Charles needed a moment to calm down enough to talk. “Get this, Raven. _Strip chess_.”

            It got a chuckle out of Sean and Raven. Alex just gave them a look that said 'you guys are crazy.' Raven added, eventually, “Charles, you are _such_ a nerd.”

            “That's hardly news,” Charles replied to his sister. “And actually, it was Erik's idea.” Finally in control of his mirth, he resumed their silent conversation. [That is too perfect. I just wish I'd thought of it myself, and much sooner. I might have gotten you into bed a long time ago.]

            [Possibly,] he conceded.

            [And what then?]

            [What?] he thought, perhaps, he'd lost the thread of their conversation.

            [So we play strip chess and you crawl into my bed, what's next? You were thoughtful, just now. I thought perhaps you had some other _ideas_.] Charles' expression was full of mischief, and he'd managed to make the word 'ideas' sound positively lewd.

            [Ah, well ...] It made no sense, after the previous night, to feel shy. But there it was. [I thought, next time we could switch roles.]

            Charles' eyebrows flew up and his surprise was palpable. [ _Really?_ ]

            [Really. If I want to discover which I prefer, I must try both ways.] And then he showed a little boldness, [Besides, _you_ enjoyed taking it so much, I want to try too.]

            [Then I will do my utmost to make it the best it can be for you.] His mental voice had turned into a gentle caress.

            [Aren't we getting ahead of ourselves? We don't know how today will go.]

            [I like having something to look forward to. Let's both live through the day, shall we?]

*

            Later, when he struggled at first to raise Shaw's submarine, Charles told him [Remember, the point between rage and serenity], and sent him a strong, steady line of peace and confidence and love. He felt his mental presence draw nearer, and he could almost imagine Charles standing close behind him, his arm outstretched like his own, lending him strength. And the happy thought he held in his mind was not his rediscovered childhood memory, but a quiet moment from the night before, their limbs and minds entangled before sleep took them.


	18. Confronting Dr. Frankenstein

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dealing with Shaw: theory and practice.  
> (In other words, the chapter does what it says on the tin.)  
> We're going slightly different than how it played out in the movie, but the end result is the same.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Somewhat of a spoiler for the contents late in this chapter and into the next:  
> The concept of a link made between them that stays open comes from Niphrehdil's ["Dark Flowers"](http://archiveofourown.org/works/2214408) (chapter 13) and also that it's brutal to have it externally severed (chapter 20). The source of the link is quite different, though.
> 
> I supposed I should have tagged/marked this story for character death, but it happens in the movie too, after all, so I don't think I'm shocking anyone.

            They'd talked about tactics, before, the whole group as well as just the two of them. They needed to know how to handle Shaw. From Raven, Alex, Sean and Hank they knew he had been able to absorb Alex's plasma blast and turn that energy to his own use. They had to assume he could do the same with other kinds of energy as well; he could confirm that from what he'd glimpsed in Miss Frost's memories. In the worst case scenario, he could absorb even the kinetic energy of a physical attack, and they had to plan for the worst. None of the others could touch him, really; perhaps Erik could use his power to control his blood and kill him from the inside – but not quickly enough to avoid being attacked in turn.

            In short, Charles was going to have to stop him by freezing him, or at the least isolating him from his abilities. The youngsters had spoken of a helmet Shaw had worn when he'd come to speak to them during the attack on HQ, but he'd removed it when he'd learned 'the telepath' wasn't there. So he potentially had a way to block Charles; but the helmet, they were fairly sure, was made of metal. So, he would need Erik to make Shaw vulnerable, and his own power to stop him. What then? He knew very well Erik meant to kill Shaw, but if he was involved he would have his say. Was there an alternative? He'd talked it out with Erik; Erik said simply, “You know what I want to do.”

            “Yes,” he replied, “but you're no longer the only one involved. Humour me, I want you to be my sounding board.”

            Shaw would not willingly be detained or imprisoned if he had the use of his powers, so simply handing him over to the authorities wasn't an option. He could freeze Shaw and let Erik kill him, which he didn't like but knew Erik preferred. He could kill Shaw himself with his powers, but he found the idea particularly abhorrent, and besides, if they were going to kill him anyway, he wouldn't deny Erik his chance at revenge. He could scramble the man's mind, but reducing him to a vegetative state didn't seem like a moral improvement over killing him. He could alter Shaw's mind, removing every trait that made him dangerous – his lust for power, his sense of superiority, his megalomania, his insane plans – in effect, removing everything that made him who he was, and he would no longer be the same person. But as loathsome as Shaw's personality was, this death of personality that would leave the body intact still felt like an execution. Besides, it was unlikely that anyone would truly believe he was changed, and that new person, that not-Shaw, would be held responsible for Shaw's crimes. So that option wouldn't do. One more possibility occurred to him. He knew he could access the part of a mutant's mind that controlled their abilities, if they were consciously controlled. In theory, if he could access it, he could interfere with it; he could make Shaw unable to use his own gift. In practice, though, he had never tried it before. He felt sure he could cut him off from his powers temporarily, while he was in his mind. But to make him permanently unable to access his gift, without his ongoing involvement? He had no idea if that was possible. It seemed like a good solution, if it could work: render him powerless, and then let him face justice as an ordinary human.

            When he faced the reality on the ground, though, all his calculations changed. Shaw was absorbing the energy from the sub's nuclear reactor, intending to make himself a sort of living bomb to spark the fight between the superpowers back to life. He could not be allowed to continue, of course. But it meant their options were limited. [I can't isolate his ability now,] he told Erik. [He's absorbed a reactor's worth of nuclear energy and I don't know what will happen if he can't control it. It's not safe.] As much as it pained him to think of it, he admitted, [You were right. Killing him is the only viable way of stopping him.] And not only would he be party to something he still found morally problematic despite its necessity, he would have to hold Shaw's mind and body, and he would be in Shaw's mind when Erik killed him. He didn't speak of it to Erik, but he was sure his lover understood the implications. And he ... well, he wasn't looking forward to that, necessary or no.

*

            Something kept Charles from sensing Shaw, so he needed to find him the old-fashioned way, with his eyes. But he was nowhere to be seen in the central area of the sub, where Charles had sensed the telepathic dead zone. Then a hidden door slid open revealing their quarry, standing in what had to be the reactor room. Every wall inside it was mirrored, and he supposed that was keeping Charles out. That, and the helmet on his head, the same one the youngsters had described. “Erik, what a pleasant surprise. So good to see you again." He stepped closer, into the mirrored room. The door slid closed behind him and Charles was gone from his mind. It felt _wrong_ , after becoming accustomed to his constant presence for so long, but he didn't think about it any further. He had to concentrate on Shaw, who kept talking at him. He tried punching him, but he only absorbed it. “I'm sorry for what happened in the camps. I am truly am,” Shaw said, and he didn't believe a word of it. Then he unleashed a small fraction of the energy he'd stored, and touched Erik's forehead, sending him flying across the small room into a wall, and the mirror cracked.

            Charles was back, although the link was tenuous enough he could only just hear him. [Erik, whatever you're doing, keep doing it. It's starting to work.] So it was indeed something about the design of the reactor room that was blocking him.

            [ _I'm_ not doing anything. _He_ is breaking his own mirrors with the help of my head,] he thought dryly, although he wasn't sure if Charles could hear him.

            Shaw, meanwhile, just kept talking. “But everything I did, I did for you. To unlock your power, to make you embrace it.” He knocked him around some more, cracking another mirror.

            [It's working,] Charles said in his head. [I'm starting to see him but I can't yet touch his mind.] Probably because of the helmet, now; the damage to the room was considerable, and Charles seemed to be back in his mind in full force, so he was no longer being blocked by the mirrors.

            “You've come a long way from bending gates. I'm so proud of you.” Shaw might have thought he was being sincere, but he sounded incredibly patronizing, and he kept throwing him around. Erik was thoroughly sick of it, and started to throw metal his way. No finesse, he just grabbed the biggest items he could and aimed. He hoped it would be enough of a distraction that at least Shaw might _shut up_. Unfortunately it didn't faze him at all, and he kept coming, and kept talking. “And you're just starting to scratch the surface. Think how much further we could go together.” Shaw had caught a steel girder he'd thrown at him and pushed it back, trapping him between the girder and the wall, and no matter how hard he pushed it away Shaw just pushed back harder, overwhelming him with the sheer force of his stored power. “I don't want to hurt you, Erik. I never did.” Again, he knew this for a lie. Shaw, and the girder, had pushed close to him, and Shaw was in his personal space, speaking in quiet tones into his ear. “I want to help you. This is our time. Our age. We are the future of the human race. You and me, son. This world could be ours.” Shaw was right about some things. Yes, mutants were the future of humanity, and yes, the rest of human society would always fear them and try to eliminate them. But Shaw's 'solution' to the 'human problem' was genocide, and that concept made Erik physically ill.

            Shaw had proclaimed this little speech with his hand cupping the back of Erik's skull. Erik fought very hard not to react with revulsion. Shaw fancied himself a father figure, but he was no better than a torturer, and he had _no_ right to touch him with such intimacy. By now, Shaw had broken enough of the mirrors that his link with Charles was back to full force. [I will make you forget he ever touched you there,] Charles vowed solemnly to him, and the words were accompanied by an image of him pressing kisses to his nape and the back of his head. [I still can't reach him. You need to get that helmet off him, somehow.] He was fairly certain that Shaw would be expecting an attempt to grab the helmet directly with his powers, and decided he would need to come at the problem sideways. And also, he would need to play along, so Shaw would lower his guard.

            So he swallowed down the nasty taste the words he was about to say left in his mouth. “Everything you did made me stronger," he said to Shaw. “It made me the weapon I am today. It's the truth. I've known it all along.” As much as he hated to do it, he locked eyes with Shaw, to ensure he had as much of his attention as possible. “You are my creator.” It was all true, in its way. Everything Shaw had done to him had made him what he was. Everything Shaw had done had made him into a weapon, into a monster. Not into a man. And when it came to honing his gift, Charles had accomplished as much with a few weeks of wisdom and kindness as Shaw had done with months of torture. Shaw was grossly mistaken to think Erik owed his 'creator' anything other than vengeance. He didn't need his limbs free to use his powers. With Shaw's attention fully on what he was saying, he used a steel cord to silently snake up behind him and snatch the helmet from his head. [ _Now_ , Charles!] he sent, and Shaw froze in place, and the pressure of the steel beam against him let up. He let it drop, and once he was free, he walked closer to where the helmet was suspended and eyed the thing speculatively. He'd come this close, and he was not going to let anything stand in the way of his revenge. Not even Charles. He slipped the helmet onto his own head.

            His mind was suddenly quiet, and he felt not the slightest trace of his lover's presence. He heard his words, though, in memory. [When that moment comes, if you still feel you need to kill him, my friend, I will not stop you. I will help you.] It had been a promise. He'd donned the helmet in a moment of weakness, of doubt, and he was ashamed at his lack of trust. And somehow, Charles' complete absence was physically painful, causing him a tremendous headache. He flung the helmet off. All he'd brought to kill Shaw was the coin he'd carried since the camps, the coin he'd given him. Now he regretted not bringing a more conventional weapon, knowing that Charles was holding the man's mind, and would feel whatever pain he felt. He'd planned to explain the poetic justice, so Shaw would understand the instrument of his death ... but now, he just wanted to get it over with. He flung the coin at Shaw's head as fast as he could with his gift, as fast as a bullet, hoping at least the pain would be over quickly. Charles' mental scream of agony was something that would haunt him for a long time.

            When it was done, Shaw dead at his feet and the scream faded, he reached for Charles' mind and tried to send some kind of comfort. [I'm so sorry, I never wanted to hurt you.]

            [There was no other way, my love. We could not stop him except by killing him. And there is no way you, or anyone else, could have killed him without me freezing him.]

            [Are you alright?]

            [I will be.]

            It was over. It was finally over.

            He tore open the side of the sub, and brought Shaw's corpse along with him. He imagined Shaw's underlings would need to see proof of his death to stop fighting. And indeed, there they were, and they seemed to be looking to him for ... something. Explanation? Leadership?

            And at the same moment, he realized, his fight wasn't over. Or rather a new one was beginning. He could feel the warships manoeuvring out in the ocean. It was no longer a question of mutants against mutants. “Today our fighting stops!” he said, mainly addressing his erstwhile enemies. He dropped Shaw's corpse to the ground and then lowered himself to the beach. It was a trick he'd figured out in Westchester; instead of moving metal relative to himself, he moved himself relative to the metal – in this case, the broken wreck of the submarine. “Take off your blinders, brothers and sisters. The real enemy is out there. I feel their guns moving in the water, their metal targeting us. Americans, Soviets ... humans. United in their fear of the unknown. The Neanderthal is running scared, my fellow mutants! Go ahead, Charles. Tell me I'm wrong.”


	19. Guns moving in the water

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The beach scene.  
> It works rather differently here.

            “Go ahead, Charles, tell me I'm wrong.”

            He reached out and scanned the minds of the fleets. [No, my friend. You are not wrong. I suppose I _was_ naïve to hope for better.] He didn't speak aloud, but he was certain the expression on his face was enough confirmation for everyone else.

            For a moment, all any of them could do was stare in shock at the two navies on the horizon. Erik's mind was blazing with fury at the back of his awareness, and he wondered why he wasn't trying to do something to disable the guns. For his part, Charles reached out, trying to find the minds of the gunners, but he didn't manage to pick them out in time from the thousands on the ships. Both fleets fired off the big guns of their warships, in surprising synchrony. Once the missiles were in flight there was not much he could do, he could only watch them approach with mounting horror. Erik, on the other hand, was gathering his concentration, firmly in his element. He raised his hand and moments before impact, the missiles stopped, hanging in midair only a few metres above their heads.

            God, he was magnificent, humming with tightly controlled power and a blazing will, and holding all their fates in his hands.

            And then Erik twisted his wrist and turned all the missiles around, pointing them back towards the fleets. It was one thing to seek revenge against specific individuals, those who had actually harmed him. But this? He was going to kill thousands of humans for the decision of their officers? “ _No_ , Erik, don't do this.”

            Erik's voice was tight with anger when he replied. “They brought this upon themselves. The humans have played their hand. Now we play ours.”

            “Erik, you said yourself we're the better men. This is the time to prove it. There are thousands of men on those ships. Good, honest, innocent men! They're just following orders.” The moment it left his mouth, he regretted his choice of words, knowing it was the worst possible thing he could have said in the circumstance.

            “I've been at the mercy of men just following orders. Never again.” He let the missiles fly, but Charles knew he still had control of them, could stop them again if he wanted to.

            He understood completely, and his heart ached for Erik. He sent sympathy and understanding but replied aloud, “What of the men whose orders have nothing to do with the weapons? The ones who keep the ships running? Will you kill them too, as if they are nothing?”

            Charles felt Erik relent, but he responded privately. [You're right. I won't destroy them. But I'm keeping those missiles on target until the last moment, I mean to put the fear of God in them.]

            [More like the fear of _you_ , my love,] Charles replied. He didn't like the vindictiveness, and making the humans fear them would be a bad strategy in the long run, but Erik had the upper hand at that moment. He'd promised never to use his power to control him, and it was not worth breaking his most important vow. He could allow a little psychological showmanship, if all that senseless killing could be avoided.

            Too late, they realized the problem with keeping their argument private. Moira wasn't privy to their discussion, and drew her gun on Erik, thinking it was necessary to stop him. He yelled out to her to stop, but the bullets were already flying.

*

            Erik dropped his control of the missiles to concentrate on deflecting the bullets from Moira's gun. The missiles fell into the ocean, or detonated in mid-air, harming no-one. The high speed of the bullets and the close range meant he had no time for finesse, he could only turn them aside with little control.

            “STOP!” Charles screamed at Moira, moving towards her, and she did, but one last bullet left her gun, and he deflected it just as he had the others.  
            He had a split-second of horror when he realized he'd sent the last bullet in Charles' direction, and then there was a scream – was it Charles', or was it his own? Searing pain blazed white-hot in his lower back, and he saw Charles collapse onto the sand. He realized the pain he was feeling was coming from Charles and not from his own body, and he pushed through it the best he could so he could kneel on the ground and pull his lover into his lap. He was almost ashamed to meet those blue eyes, brimming with the tears of physical agony. “I am so sorry,” he said, his voice thick with wanting to cry himself. The others were approaching them and his anger flared again when his eye fell on Moira. “YOU! You did this!” He took hold of her necklace with his power. He didn't tighten it to choke her, as much as he was tempted – but he held it firmly, so she couldn't move any closer without choking herself. The rest of their friends hesitated to come closer.

            “Let her go,” Charles said. “There's blame to share.” Reluctantly, he released his hold on Moira's necklace. He reached his hand under Charles' back, thinking to get the bullet out. “Leave it, please,” Charles said, and he stopped.

            Of the rest of their group, only Hank had come any closer. He interjected, gently, “He's right, Erik. Removing the bullet like this risks making the injury worse.”

            “What do we need to do?”

            “Get him to a hospital,” Hank replied, “And keep his back as immobile as possible.”

            “I think the horse has already fled on that one, Hank,” Charles said, with humour absurd to the situation, then groaned loudly when a slight movement caused him pain, and terror briefly flashed in his eyes and across his mind. “Hank, I can't feel my legs,” he croaked.

            It felt like his stomach had just dropped into his boots. He wasn't sure of Hank's facial expressions in his new form, but that looked like intense worry. Meanwhile, he tried to project support, love and calm to Charles, but thought that his own fear was probably leaking through. He needed to think. What were their resources? How the hell were they going to get Charles to a hospital from here?

            Of course. They had Shaw's teleporter. [You touched the teleporter’s mind. What is his name?]

            [Azazel.]

            [Thank you.] “Azazel!” Erik called out, loud enough to carry across the beach.

            The red mutant disappeared and reappeared in front of them. “Yes?”

            “We need your help. I ask as a favour. We can sort out your allegiance later.”

            “You want me to take your friend to a hospital?”

            “Please.”

            “Yes, I will do this.”

            “A moment, please,” Charles spoke up, addressing Azazel, who simply nodded. [I need to close the link, darling, to stop you from feeling my pain,] he told Erik.

            [I’m responsible for it. It seems fitting I should share it.]

            [Right now I need your physical strength more than I need your guilt.] He felt the familiar presence retreat, and the reflected pain dulled to a low ache ... but Charles was not completely gone from his head as he’d been just minutes earlier when he wore the helmet. Curious. Charles had the same realization at the same time, and looked shocked as he met his eyes. The connection strengthened enough for speech. [It didn’t work! I closed it down all the way. There’s a connection there I’m not in control of. I don’t know how it’s possible, or how long it’s existed ... ]

            [Maybe last night? We were rather deeply intertwined, could that be the cause?]

            [That’s plausible. The 'how' isn’t important. How is the pain?]

            [Mine?] It seemed like an odd question under the circumstances. [It’s mostly gone.]

            [Good. I need you to carry me. Whenever you’re ready.]

            Erik shifted his own position and Charles’ so he could stand and lift his friend as easily and smoothly as possible. He was a larger weight than he was accustomed to lifting, but thankfully there was a fair amount of metal on the suit, so he did not need to rely on his muscular strength alone. Cradled in his arms, Charles turned his upper body towards him and draped an arm around his neck. Erik didn’t think he was imagining that it was for comfort more than physical support. “Are we ready?” he asked Charles.

            “We need to ... bring Raven.” His voice was becoming more and more strained with pain.

            He’d been vaguely aware that Raven had been talking to Azazel while he’d been focused on Charles. “Yes, you do,” Raven agreed. “I’m ready.” She took one of Azazel’s hands. Since both of Erik’s hands were full, Azazel took hold of his upper arm.

            With a loud ‘CRACK’ and a split-second of disorientation, they found themselves someplace else entirely.


	20. We will get through this, together / Blindingly Obvious

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Erik in the hospital, while Charles is being seen to.  
> Raven confronts him, sort of.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I feel like I should note that  
> 1) I don't know anything about NYC hospitals.   
> 2) I'm making assumptions about how this all would have gone; I'm can only work from my experience of hospitals in another city, another country, and another decade.

            Azazel had left them outside the doors of a large hospital, and immediately disappeared before he could be seen; Erik wasn't even sure where they were at first. (They were in New York City, it turned out. Erik admired the teleporter’s range, but how had he known?) Raven was quick to come up with a believable story to explain Charles' wound and the circumstances of their arrival, although their outfits earned them a number of strange looks. He did not have the wits to contrive any such tale, as focused as he was on his lover suffering in his arms and the jumble of his own thoughts and emotions: fear, worry, guilt, the tenderest kind of love. And, as much as he might deny it, relief: Charles’ injury was very serious, but he hadn’t lost him.

            After things had quieted down in the emergency department, one of the nurses noticed the various small injuries he'd sustained fighting Shaw in the sub, and took the time to tend to them. While his experiences with Schmidt as a youth made him normally wary of doctors and hospital settings, the nurse was kind and gentle and so unlike any memory of the camps that she put him at ease. She commented at one point that he was sunburned, and asked how he'd managed that so late in the fall in New York. Thought the sun had been bright on the Cuban beach, none of his companions seemed affected, not even Charles with his pale, freckly complexion; he said nothing to the nurse, but realized it wasn't a sunburn at all. It was a mild radiation burn from his unshielded exposure in the reactor room of Shaw's submarine. Even in this, Shaw had been mistaken. Radiation had been no threat to him because of his particular ability, but other mutants were just as susceptible as humans. His mad plan would never have worked.

            It was only after Charles had been admitted that Erik understood why he’d insisted Raven come along, and it wasn’t because of her fast talking. She might not have been his sister in any legal sense, but he had no living close relatives, and he’d designated her as his next of kin. Of all their merry band, she was the only one who would be allowed to stay with him and be involved with his care. All Erik could do was haunt the waiting room and hope Charles or Raven would choose to tell him what was going on. While he'd been getting bandaged up, Charles had stayed quiet, and stayed connected only through the newly-discovered bond that he could not block. So he could tell that he was awake, in pain, and he had a vague sense of his emotional state, which was more complicated than Erik cared to unravel. Once he returned to the waiting room, he found did not handle the wait well. He longed to fidget with metal, juggling it or reshaping it as was his habit when he needed to keep his mind and hands busy, but he knew it would be unwise to reveal his gift. So he paced, and sat, and fidgeted with his hands, and paced, and tried to read the old magazines but couldn’t concentrate on them, and paced some more.

            Charles spoke in his mind for the first time since he’d been taken from his arms. [I’m sorry I pushed you out, but I needed all my attention, love. They're taking me into surgery, and they're going to put me under. I'm sure you'll feel it ...]

            [So I won't worry when I do. Thank you. And I understand.] He didn't know if he was reassuring Charles or himself when he added, [We can get through this.]

            [We _will_ get through it. Together.]

            [I know we have our differences in principles, but I want to work through them. We shouldn't let it come between us.]

            [And we will, later.] A brief pause when Charles' attention was elsewhere. [I love you. Do you think they'll let you see me when I wake up?]

            [I hope they will. I love you, too.] He felt a burst of affection in response, then felt Charles' presence retreat as he slipped into unconsciousness.

*

            Raven walked into the waiting room a few minutes later and dropped into the chair beside his. “He's in surgery now.”

            “I know.”

            A long, uncomfortable silence before she asked, “So, where were you last night?”

            “I don't know what you're talking about.”

            “Cut the bullshit. I won't pretend that I wasn't in your room last night, and you won't pretend that you were.”

            “Alright. How about, it's none of your business, and why _were_ you in my bedroom last night?”

            “I think that's pretty obvious.” She sighed. “I'm sorry, can we try this conversation again, nicely?”

            “Alright.” He wasn't entirely sure where to start. “I'm sorry if I misled you in any way about my intentions, Raven.”

            “You didn't. I'm old enough to know that when a man calls you beautiful, it doesn't _always_ mean he wants to take you to bed. I took a risk, I made a reasonable assumption and it turned out to be wrong.”

            “I understand about seeking affirmation and comfort in someone else's bed. After all, last night we all thought we were on the brink of war. But why _mine_? I thought you'd taken a shine to Hank?”

            “You're the only one who thinks ... the way I look naturally is beautiful.” He noticed her hesitation, and how she avoided answering the second question.

            “I won't always be the only one. I hope.” He patted her hand in what he hoped was a sympathetic manner.

            She turned to look at him and squeezed his hand back, before releasing it. “Thank you.” She paused for a while before returning to her original question. “So ... where were you seeking comfort, last night?”

            Erik realized there was no point in lying to her. The three of them would be constantly together in the coming days, and she would figure it out, sooner rather than later. “I was with Charles.”

            Raven narrowed her eyes speculatively. “Not just playing chess, I take it.”

            “No.”

            “I wouldn’t have figured you for the type.”

            “I wasn’t, before ... wait, is that all you have to say?”

            Raven looked around to see if anyone was within earshot (there wasn’t), and responded with her voice softer, just above a whisper. “Look, I won’t deny that I think it’s kind of disgusting. But I’m also being a hypocrite.”

            “How so?”

            “Think about my ability, and what it _means_. I’m a woman. I’m attracted to men. But then, I can take anyone’s shape. I could take the shape of a man, and my tastes wouldn't change.”

            “Still, you’re taking it more calmly than I expected.”

            “I’d suspected it for a while, honestly. You two are ...” She shrugged. “It didn’t look like male friendship usually does. So I’ve had time to get used to the idea, I guess.”

            “Honestly, you should have locked us in a pantry or something. We were being such idiots.” Erik stopped when he realized what he’d just said and chuckled at himself. “Except that wouldn’t have worked, because ...” he raised his hand and wiggled his fingers, “locks.”

            Raven laughed. “Anyway ... It’s blindingly obvious how much you two care for each other. You’ve got that in your favour, and it’s more than I can say for the girls he picked up at Oxford.”

            “A bit of a playboy, was he?” Having seen Charles’ smooth talking in action, he could imagine it.

            “Not as much as he likes to think. His little pick-up routine didn’t work nearly as often as he liked.”

            “He had a routine?”

            “Yeah, the whole ‘groovy mutation’ bit?” Erik must have looked blank, because Raven immediately explained. He realized he had seen an attempt at it when Charles had showed him his memory of meeting Moira, but he hadn’t realized he _always_ used the same pick-up strategy. He smiled to himself and filed it away for later teasing.


	21. We all made it out alive / I don't deserve you

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Charles, Erik and Raven talk after Charles wakes up post-surgery.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For this and future chapters, I need to say - any sentiments that seem ableist aren't my point of view. This is Charles coming to terms with his new circumstances, and not necessarily dealing with it well. Doesn't reflect what I think about others in similar situations, etc. As for any of the other characters - it's 1962. It's period-typical, I should think.
> 
> translation:  
> meine Schuld (German): 'my fault,' except he's repeating it over and over in his head.

            When Charles woke up, the doctors and nurses fluttered around him. They told him what he already knew: they hadn’t been able to restore any function in his legs, though the pain was improved. He was facing a long stay and a lot of occupational therapy before he could go home. When they moved him from Recovery to the private room he’d be occupying, he asked if he could see Raven and Erik. He’d been aware of Erik since he woke, of course, but now he reached his mind out to look for his sister. They were in the same place. Raven was awake, Erik was drowsing; but he knew Erik would welcome his ‘intrusion’ and Raven would not. He gave Erik a mental nudge to rouse him, and expanded their connection, making it deeper than what they’d usually shared before. He didn’t need to hear every thought, but he wanted to ... well, to _wallow_ in Erik’s emotions, in the love he knew was there. [Wake up, sunshine,] he sent, and the emotional response did not disappoint. His first reaction to Charles' mental presence was happiness and affection, even if it was followed by worry and regret.

            [I didn't realized I'd drifted off,] Erik replied.

            [No harm in it, all you were doing was waiting,] he countered with humour. [I've asked them to come bring the two of you to my room.]

 *

            Right on schedule, the orderly returned with his friends, then left them to their privacy. Erik initially hung back and let Raven precede him into the room, and she crossed quickly to his bed to hug him fiercely. He felt no hesitation from Erik, so why ... ? He met his eyes over Raven's shoulder.

            [Just letting family have the first go,] Erik told him. Once Raven had let go and stepped away to sit on one of the visitor's chairs, he approached. Charles could feel his intent clearly, but Erik was polite enough to stop at his bedside and ask, [May I kiss you, sweetheart?]

            Surprise and shock warred with YES in his mind. [But ... in front of Raven?]

            [We talked. She knows, she's mostly okay with it.]

            [Well, then. _Yes_ , please. You hardly need to ask.] The background warmth of Erik's emotions heightened in response to his assent into a heady mix of love and desire. Erik's large hands framed his face, firmly holding him still, and when their mouths met he pushed his tongue in relentlessly, his emotions needy, possessive, and _desperate_. It was a respite from his own worries, and he let himself fall into the sensations, physical and mental, and melted into the kiss and into their bond.

            It didn't last anywhere near as long as he would have liked, before their attention was dragged back to the present by Raven's raised voice. It seemed they had both been oblivious to her increasingly loud throat clearing. “Hey!”

            “What.” Erik, bless him, practically growled at the interruption.

            “Save it for when I'm not around, boys,” she replied impatiently.

            They both turned to fix her with matching glares.

            “And I will leave you alone, later, I promise,” she added, more gently. She manoeuvred another chair to his bedside. Erik dropped a kiss on his forehead before he sat and took his hand. “What news, Charles?” Raven asked.

            His heart sank. Somehow, telling them made it feel more real. He tried distraction. “Well, we’re not in the middle of a nuclear war. And we all made it out alive.”

            Raven rolled her eyes. He felt fond annoyance from Erik, although he covered it well. “That’s true, and we should count ourselves lucky. But it’s not what we’re asking, you know that,” he replied, as gentle as he’d ever heard. And, of course, Erik knew what he was _feeling_ , if not the reason why. [Whatever the trouble is, _Schatz_ , we're here for you.]

            He drew a deep breath. “There wasn’t a lot they could do. They've stabilized my back, and the pain is better, but.” He closed his eyes, and spoke quietly. “I’ll likely never regain the use of my legs.”

            He spared himself seeing their stricken expressions, but Erik’s reaction was overpowering: sadness, something like sympathetic grief, but above all, crushing guilt and a half-articulate litany of _meineSchuldmeineSchuldmeineSchuldmeineSchuld_ over and over. He heard a choked-off sob and honestly couldn’t say for sure who made it. He opened his eyes to see Erik hanging his head, and gently caressed his cheek. He looked up. “Oh God, Charles, I am so sorry,” and his voice was ... _broken_ in a way it hadn’t been when he said the same words on the beach.

            “Listen to me, my love, _it is not your fault_.”

            “Is it not? I sent that bullet towards you.”

            “Because you were deflecting it away from yourself.”

            “Carelessly.”

            “It’s impressive that your reflexes were quick enough to deflect it at all. It was an accident that it hit me. And Moira shot the gun, so some of the blame is hers. And if we'd been speaking aloud, she wouldn't have thought she needed to stop you, so some of the blame is mine as well.”

            “And if I had just neutralized the missiles rather than retaliating, she wouldn't have needed to.”

            “That's true. And if Washington and Moscow hadn't decided to wipe us from the face of the Earth, it wouldn't have been an issue. We could argue this back and forth forever.” He sighed. “Look, if you won't believe that the blame isn't all on you ... Then let me accept your apology, and give you my forgiveness. Without reservation.” He felt hope start to win out over Erik's guilt, finally. [I mean it, love. If you can calm your own emotions long enough to listen to mine, you'll know.]

            Erik was quiet, mind and voice, for several seconds as he did just that, and he finally whispered, “Thank you.” There was still guilt and doubt, but much reduced, rocks below a river of affection. And then: “I'm fairly sure I don't deserve you.”

            Raven interjected into their conversation: “No, you don't.” He could tell she was joking ... mostly.

            “Shut up, Raven,” he and Erik both said, amicably, not quite in unison.

            “So what happens now?” she asked.

            “Well.” He told them a summarized version of what the doctors told him. Physical healing, rehab, occupational therapy, the lot. “It's only a guess at this point, but if everything goes smoothly, I _might_ be home by Christmas.” Two months, basically. It seemed like a long time, far longer than he wanted to be living in a hospital. No one enjoys being in hospital, of course, but it was especially difficult for him, because he could sense the distress of those in pain, the sick, the dying; no matter how well he shielded himself, the sheer number of people and the strength of their emotions inevitably meant some of it would slip through. He hoped, at least, that he would have visits from these two, the two people he loved best, to keep him from going entirely spare. He wanted to add a hopeful note, so he said, “The doctors said, there are actually two things contributing to my current ... symptoms. There's the injury itself, of course, but because it's new and raw, there's a lot of inflammation, as well.”

            Erik looked at him quizzically. “You're saying that like it's a good thing.”

            “Mildly so, because as the inflammation goes down, so will any impairment that's caused by it and not the actual injury.” He paused. “Not ... the walking, but it's possible I'll get back some sensation, possibly some muscle function that I don't have right now.”

            “That doesn't sound like much to celebrate,” Raven said.

            “At the moment, I'll take any good news, however small.” That was the truth. For instance, at the moment he couldn't feel his pelvic floor muscles, and while he was prepared to face it for the short term, he fervently hoped that he would eventually be able to eliminate normally. The alternative was too depressing to contemplate. And he really didn't want to dwell on such thoughts right now. Especially as there were other serious matters to consider. “I'm being terribly selfish,” he said. “Do we know what happened to our friends? I feel awful having left them behind on the beach.”

            Erik spoke up first. “You were severely injured, Charles. It's appropriate to make getting care your priority. Being selfish isn't necessarily a bad thing.”

            “I asked Azazel to go back and get the others, and bring them home,” Raven said.

            “Home, to the mansion?” Erik asked. “Do you trust him?”

            He'd addressed the question to Raven, but it was Charles who answered. “I do. In this, at least. I don't believe he'll betray us to potential enemies.”

            “Did you ...?” Erik began to ask but didn't finish the sentence, but it was fairly obvious what he meant.

            “I didn't interrogate him, but I felt enough of his mind to get a good sense of the man. His morality in general may be questionable, but he has a strong sense of honour, as he sees it.”

            “So he might make off with the good silver, but he won't sell us out to the CIA?” Raven asked, half-jokingly.

            Probably not, he didn't think the teleporter was given to petty larceny. “Something like that,” he laughed. “Honestly, though, I know I'm judging based on intuition, from just a quick taste of the man's character, but I think it'll be alright.” He paused to gather his thoughts. “I think we should invite them to stay.”

            “All of them?” Raven asked, with the slightest note of hurt in her voice. She didn't want him to read her mind, but he didn't need to. She'd been there when Angel defected and he knew she'd been particularly upset about it. They might not have been bosom friends, but the two had bonded somewhat, having been the only two young women among the recruits, and, with the exception of Moira, very nearly the only ones in the entire base.

            “If we're giving Shaw's mutants a chance, we give _all_ of them a chance,” he said. “And all of ours are welcome to stay indefinitely, too. I want my house to be a sanctuary for all mutants.” He corrected himself: “Our house.”

            “Our own separate society, then?” Erik asked.

            “A handful of mutants does not a society make, darling. More like an enclave. And at the moment, best it be a hidden one.”

            Raven rolled her eyes. “As always.”

            “This isn't about your visible mutation,” Erik chided her. “In case you hadn't noticed, the navies of both human superpowers just tried to kill all of us. The American government knows who we are, all of us, including those of us who look human. I'd like us all to be able to show ourselves openly and proudly, but it isn't safe or wise right now.”

            “In any case, I don't want to dictate to anyone how to live,” he added. "This is what I want my home to be, and everyone can take it or leave it and take their chances.”

            “I suppose that's fair,” she said. “Although I wish you wouldn't forget it's my home, too.”

            “Of course it is. I'm sorry.”

            “Don't worry. I'm not going to fight you on this,” she assured him. “On that note, I am going to find a phone and check in with the others at the mansion.” She came to his side and gave him a sisterly kiss on the cheek before she left.


	22. Why would you think I wouldn't have you? / Why would you think I would leave?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Charles and Erik have a private conversation. Only some of it is serious.  
> Lame chapter title is lame. But it's still better than 'chapter 22' :)
> 
> No guarantees on when next chapter will be. Basically I have some ideas about what is going to happen in terms of minimal plot (for instance, they're going to have to have a BIG TALK about politics and compromise) and a bunch of episodes/vignettes of them during his stay in hospital - some are written, some aren't, and I'm not 100% sure about order. And I do feel less constrained when I'm writing 'freeform,' not rewriting scenes from the movie, so this should go quicker - but it's all a disorganized mess in my head and my OpenOffice file at the moment.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As I said before about ableism and language.

            Despite their privacy, he didn't feel right about returning to their intimate moment of kissing. Their serious conversation with Raven – both about Charles' prognosis and about future plans for the group – had rather spoiled the mood. But he wasn't sure what to say, either. Charles spoke first, quietly. “And what will _you_ do now, Erik?”

            “I'm staying, of course.” That should be obvious, unless ... “If you'll still have me.”

            He got the sense of Charles loosening up after having held his emotions tightly in check, and felt a brush of Charles' relief. [Why would you think I wouldn't have you?]

            He replied with his own question. [Why would you think I would leave?]

            [I always knew you were only working with me, the CIA and the kids to help you with Shaw. Now that he's dead, you might well have other goals to pursue.]

            [Please, I'm not heartless. It may have started out as business, but there are bonds of affection, now. In any case – killing Shaw was my top priority. Now that he's dead, _you_ are my priority.]

            “I wasn't sure if you'd still want to be with me like this.” Charles gestured broadly, encompassing his injured body, the bed, the whole hospital situation. “I know you didn't sign up to be tied to a cripple. And I wouldn't want you to stay out of pity, or a sense of obligation.”

            “I'm almost offended you'd think me that shallow. God, Charles, for such a smart man you can be astoundingly _stupid_.” He said this with fond exasperation. He leaned down, grabbed Charles' hand and pressed it to his own temple. They hardly needed such gestures between them, but it reinforced what he was asking. [Come in and _look_. Nothing has changed in how I feel.] Charles had narrowed their connection and withdrawn somewhat while they'd talked with Raven. Feeling him come back in, deeply and emotionally open, was a comfort, a psychic embrace. He continued. [I won't pretend that your new limitations don't complicate things, but they're not going to scare me away.] He pulled the hand from his temple and kissed the palm. “If our positions were reversed and I was the one crippled, would you love me any less?”

            A sudden gust of love, short but powerful. “Of course not.”

            “You shouldn't doubt me, when all you need to do is _look_.” He added, in fond insult, “You great idiot.”

            Charles chuckled briefly at that before he turned serious again. “Why would you think I wouldn't still have you?”

            There were many reasons, and he tried to put them in some kind of order. “Well, because I did this to you, for starters.”

            A prickle of exasperation. “I said already I forgave you for your part in that.”

            “And I am sorry I mistrusted you, even for a moment. With the helmet,” he added for clarification.

            “You trusted me enough to take it off again. You're allowed to have moments of doubt, you know. I don't think it needs forgiveness, but you have it.”

            “Also it hurt.”

            “That it did.” He wanted to apologize – he'd _assumed_ that Charles had also felt that pain when the helmet separated them, but this was confirmation. Charles spoke again before he could, though. “Don't apologize for that, you didn't know it would happen.”

            “I think I might have guessed. Did you feel something similar when I was closed in the reactor room?” Charles nodded. “I felt something, too, but I ignored it because I was busy with Shaw.”

            “I think ... hmm.” Charles began. “I said there was a new connection between us that I couldn't close. I think that it might be something organic in both our brains. I'm not sure. But I think that pain was what happens when it's severed by an outside force.”

            “The other reason I thought you might have ... not wanted me to stay, anymore. I know you were appalled that I was ready to destroy the navies. We have very different philosophies, and I am not a nice man. Violence and rage are a part of me, now.”

            [Beloved,] Charles replied, [I know what kind of man you are, I knew what kind of man you are and I still fell in love with you. As for philosophies, I hope we can find some middle ground. Or learn to live with each other despite that difference.]

            “You compromised for me, when you helped me kill Shaw. I can accept compromises for you.”

            “So, nothing has changed then? Between us?”

            “Nothing has changed, little cat.” He flashed Charles an image of the ginger tom he'd compared him to that morning, which earned him an amused little smile.

            “Then, I want you by my side, for as long as you want to be,” and here Charles' smile turned broad, and he let loose a flood of love. “Are we going to tell the others?”

            “About us? I think we should. I feel it's hypocritical to talk about being proud of ourselves as mutants, not to be ashamed of who we are, and then to hide this.”

            “I was thinking, maybe after I'm back home. First of all, because we can't get everyone here at once, and I don't want to have to say it twice. And also ... saying it now would seem more like we're making a big deal out of it. Once we're all under one roof, it would be more like saying, 'oh, by the way...' And it will give us more time to settle in with each other. Not that I doubt either of us, but ...”

            “By one way of looking at it, we've been together for one day. I understand.”

            “The other question you need to consider is your public reputation. I can live off my family's wealth for a long time, but are you going to want to work at a normal job? If it gets beyond our friends, you'll have difficulty finding employment.”

            He snorted in derision. “It's not my highest ambition, no. Groveling to a _human_ boss? Besides, who would want to hire an angry undocumented immigrant mutant with an international criminal record?”

            Charles looked at him speculatively. “We're going to need to work on the legalities, in any case. But listen, I would be quite happy to support you, but I don't know if you'd resent being the ... hrm. Mistress?”

            He had to laugh. “How about 'kept man'? And as long as you expect me to earn my keep in the usual fashion for such a position, I have no complaint.”

            Charles' giggle bubbled in his mind. “ _Really_ , Erik. You're incorrigible.”

            “Let me see. I make myself sexually available to you, and in return I get to live a life of luxury in Xavier Mansion? What's not to like? I might even consent to cook and do laundry.”

            “You're ridiculous,” Charles laughed. “As good as it was, you know I want you around for more than just the sex. Sorry to ruin your dreams of being a gigolo.” His voice turned serious. “I want to keep working with other mutants. Our little gang, and I'd want to reach out to find others. I'm still figuring out what and how, but I want you to be part of it. So seriously, I'll be asking more of you than playing house.”

            “It's going to depend on what you plan to do, obviously. And I guess this is where we argue politics.”

            “No, let it wait. At least until Raven gets back here.”

            “Why? I doubt she wants to referee our argument.”

            Charles pulled him down towards him with a hand behind his head. [Because we've settled what's important between us, and I don't want to waste any more of the privacy she's given us.] He pressed their lips together and immediately was licking his lips open, pleading to be let in.

            He smiled into the kiss and gladly let Charles deeper into his mouth and deeper into his mind, and luxuriated in the love/lust/deep contentment that washed over him from their bond.


	23. Practicalities, Nightmares, Body Horror

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Pretty much what it says on the tin. Some discussion with Raven; the effects of the day on Erik's subconscious, and why it's a damn good thing he woke up early.

            They weren't kisses meant to lead into something more – where could they lead, after all, with Charles badly injured and just out of surgery? Still, Erik was gratified to note that his lover was breathing rapidly and his pupils were dilated when he pulled away. He was sure he looked the same. [Raven's on her way back,] Charles told him, explaining why he'd broken their kiss.

            At some point while they were disentangling and rearranging themselves (Charles had decided he wanted to sit up), Charles pressed something small into his hand. He uncurled his fingers to discover the bullet from Charles' back, safely wrapped in a small plastic bag. He hadn't said anything yet when Charles picked up on the confused questions chasing each other around his head and responded, “I asked the surgeon for it. I had a hunch you might want it to be kept.” When he was still too stunned to say anything, he added, “If you don't want it, you can get rid of it, but I wanted to give you that choice.”

            “Okay,” he said, though he still didn't understand. He tucked it away in his flight suit just in time for Raven to return.

*

            “What news, Raven?” Charles asked his sister.

            She sat down before answering. “Everyone's there, settling in. Except ...” she drew a deep breath, and sighed. “Angel said she wouldn't feel right coming back with us. Azazel was kind enough to take her to Philly on her own.”

            “He's being very gracious about being used as transportation,” Charles commented.

            “I told them about ...” she hesitated, and gestured around at the room. “This. How you are.”

            “Of course, I'd have been disappointed if they hadn't wanted to know.”

            He sensed Charles hesitating around the next question, and asked it himself, instead. “Did you mention anything about us?” He inclined his head towards Charles to make his meaning absolutely clear.

            “Of course not,” she replied. “Not my secret to tell.”

            They both relaxed. “Thank you,” Charles said quietly.

            “You should know that they retrieved Shaw's helmet. I'm not sure whose idea it was ...”

            Charles had flinched at that news and he was sympathetic. But it made sense. He spoke gently to him. “You know that if the Navy retrieved it, some scientist working for the Department of Defense would try to reverse engineer it. Considering that, I think it's much better that _we_ keep it and have Hank tinkering with it instead.”

            “I'm honestly not sure whether to be excited or apprehensive about the prospect.”

            “Also, you're not the only telepath in the world,” Raven pointed out.

            “Frost is in CIA custody,” Charles objected.

            “Do you really think they can hold her a minute longer than she wants them to?” he said. “Even if they have a way of countering her telepathy, she's perfectly capable of getting her way through manipulation and seduction.”

            Charles made a moue of distaste. “That's true. I'd put that damn helmet on _myself_ to keep from getting anywhere near her mind again.” Raven raised an eyebrow, ambiguously either sardonic or inquiring. “You haven't had the _pleasure_ of Miss Frost's acquaintance,” Charles said to his sister, the word 'pleasure' heavy with sarcasm. “She's a real piece of work.”

            “I take it you don't plan on offering _her_ shelter, then,” she said.

            “Not unless she has a massive change of heart ... and personality.” Charles fell silent for long moments before he changed the direction of the conversation. “Speaking of being a safe shelter,” he began, “The CIA, ergo the federal government, have a paper trail on us. All of our group, in any case; I don't know if Azazel and ...” he trailed off. Neither of them knew the other man's name, Erik realized.

            “The one who makes tornadoes? His name is Janos,” Raven supplied.

            “Thank you. So, the feds have a paper trail, and we need to destroy it.”

            “Moira should know who has files on us, and where,” he pointed out.

            “And I can infiltrate,” Raven suggested, shifting into a semblance of MacTaggert for a few seconds and then reverting to her usual 'public' blonde form.

            “Probably _not_ as Moira,” Erik said, “but I take your meaning.” He had been thinking about what would be necessary for their safety, pondering it in the back of his mind while they spoke. “Destroying the records won't be enough, Charles,” he said gravely. “Moira knows where we live.”

            [Surely you're not suggesting ...] Charles began to say.

            He responded aloud, deciding Raven could guess from context what her brother had said. “No, of course not.” The Erik of several months ago wouldn't have hesitated to kill an inconvenient witness, even if she were a former ally; but then, the old Erik hadn't had a powerful telepath on his side. And also, well ... now it wasn't his preferred solution, even if it was far from being his last resort. “You've rubbed off on me, you know.”

            Raven made a choked sort of sound that might have been a stifled giggle.

            “Then what _are_ you suggesting?”

            “Once we have the information we need from her, she needs to forget. At least, everything from when we moved to the mansion.”

            Charles' body language may have been constrained, but even so he could see him balking. “That's _weeks_ of memories I'd be cutting away. What gives me the right to take that much of her life from her, to meddle that much with anyone, let alone a friend? Surely that's not necessary.”

            “It may not be a clear life-or-death situation, but it _is_ a matter of security. Are your scruples more important than our safety?”

            “I trust her.”

            “It's not a question of trusting her. I don't trust the agency she works for. She can't be forced to tell what she doesn't know. And if you think the CIA won't resort to torture, you've clearly not been paying enough attention to international affairs.”

            Charles sighed. “You're right, dammit. But I still don't like it.”

            “You can dislike it all you want, as long as you do it.”

            Their conversation ranged on, but tended to keep to practical matters and specificities after that. Charles wondered if Hank could recreate Cerebro at the mansion, even though all his notes and schematics had been lost in the destruction of the CIA base. Raven allowed that she would ask him when she returned to the mansion, but pointed out that there were more pressing issues concerning the old building. The house was ill-suited to accommodate Charles' decreased mobility and his chair. They'd need to build ramps, widen doorways, rework the bathrooms, and install an elevator, among countless other things. As long as someone else worked out the design, Erik suggested that he could physically construct the elevator. And on it went. They never did get around to arguing politics, not that evening.

*

            As the evening wore on, Raven decided she should return home for the night, but he didn't want to be that far from Charles, and he arranged for a room at a motel close to the hospital. When Raven called the mansion and asked if someone could drive in to the city to pick her up, he had her ask for them to bring down some toiletries and a change of clothes for him. He would have preferred to sleep in Charles' room – on a cot, or even in the chair, but the hospital wouldn't allow it. So, the motel would have to do, and being a couple of blocks away was better than being all the way out in Salem. It's odd, he thought, that he craved that closeness after only one night in Charles' bed. Then he thought of all the nights on the road, sleeping in separate beds but in shared rooms, and the nights at the mansion, only two rooms away, still only a matter of metres. The two of them had been sleeping close to each other for a long time, and this was the first night in weeks they'd been separated by any distance at all. They wouldn't be close enough to wake each other from nightmares within the minute as they had before. He thought there was a good chance one of them would have nightmares that night, after the day they'd had.

            God, it had only been _one day_ , all of this. One span of twenty-four hours encompassed the wonder of the night before, when he stopped fighting himself and let himself fall into Charles' bed, and in the process they'd both fallen into each other's minds and hearts, too. The same span of time also encompassed the horrors of the day just ended and everything that had gone wrong. One day. In truth it felt more like a week. In spite of Charles' forgiveness, he still felt guilt for his injury, and he suspected he always would. He knew he was not going to sleep easy that night. So they weren't close enough to stop each other's nightmares, but he was easily within Charles' telepathic reach, at least. Their link was open, as usual, and he sent a brief tendril of query, [Settling in alright for the night, _Liebe_?] and received only incoherent sleepy mumbles in return, which he took as an affirmative. [Sleep well, sweet one,] he added before turning his thoughts to his own bedtime routine.

            He slept fitfully. He dreamt, always of Charles, but not pleasantly. The first dream which woke him had been an erotic one – sort of. They'd been lying together in a spooning position, he was the big spoon and Charles the little spoon. He rutted lazily against Charles' backside and reached around to stroke him off. It should have been lovely – slow, unpressured and sweet – but Charles was too quiet, his cock the only part of him that was responsive, and he couldn't see his face. He hadn't reached his own completion when Charles came in his hand, and then turned to face him. His face was expressionless and his eyes were vacant and dead.

            He woke up far too horrified to be aroused. Exhaustion soon overcame horror and he fell back asleep, only to dream again. The rest of the night, his dreams were variations on a theme, all of them alternate visions of what had happened that afternoon on the beach. The bullet hitting a major artery and Charles bleeding to death on the sand; the bullet hitting his head, or his heart; the gun being in his own hand and not Moira's. In one dream he pushed the coin through Charles' skull and not Shaw's, and _that_ was uncomfortably close to the truth. In another dream, events occurred as they had in reality, but Charles blamed him even more forcefully than he blamed himself, bitterly repudiated him and their love and sent him away. On any other night that dream would have torn his heart, but it seemed mild compared to the others because at least Charles didn't die. The dream that disturbed him the least was the one in which he failed to stop the missiles and they all perished together on the beach. After every dream, he woke briefly, but would return to sleep only to suffer another dream just as terrible as the last.

            In the very early morning, he decided he'd prefer to get up for the day, even if he was still tired, than keep having any more of those dreams. So he rose, and showered and dressed and got ready for the day, and returned to the hospital. He managed to sneak into Charles' room even though it was the wrong hour for visitors, and sat by his bed watching him sleep. Charles slept peacefully, and Erik couldn't find it in himself to be jealous of that. Instead he was grateful that his beloved could enjoy those hours of untroubled rest. He had certainly earned them after all he'd been through. Charles looked serene in slumber, and his presence in the back of Erik's mind was quiet, only the gentle susurrations of deep sleep. They weren't linked deeply enough for him to what (or if) Charles dreamt. If he ignored what was out of sight under the covers, he could imagine everything was the same as before, and Charles merely resting from some less catastrophic injury. But he _couldn't_ ignore what was hidden by the sheets. Because of his own mutation, he couldn't help but be aware of the metal hardware supporting the injured area of Charles' spine. Its presence was undeniable testimony of what had happened, no matter how peaceful and pain-free his friend's sleep appeared. He itched to touch him, to stroke his hair or his face. Then he realized that their bond told him that he was deeply asleep. He felt he could chance it if he didn't move suddenly, so he slowly, carefully slipped his hand into Charles' and settled in to watch him sleep. Some time later Charles started to stir towards wakefulness. The small movements he made were physical evidence, but Erik could also feel the difference in the touch of his mind. He stayed especially still, because he wanted to let Charles wake when his body was ready, and not unintentionally startle him into awareness.

            When Charles woke fully, there was a single moment of calm and a gentle brush on his mind as he sensed and acknowledged Erik's presence. Then, all at once, Charles was flailing, struggling to sit up and failing, and he grasped at Erik's mind, blowing their connection wide open. [I can't feel my legs! Erik, what is wrong with me, why can't feel my legs? What's happening?] he cried in his mind, and horror/fear/panic crashed into him.

            He pulled Charles up into his arms and held him as tightly as he dared, pushing back calm/reassurance/affection back towards him. [Hush, _Liebling_. Be calm.]

            It took some time before Charles' memories caught up to his still-waking consciousness and he understood what was happening, and then his panic subsided. He let his head fall onto Erik's shoulder and let out a choked-off sob before he calmed fully. [I'm sorry,] he said, [I didn't remember at first and it's ... shocking.]

            He ran his fingers soothingly through Charles' hair. “It's alright. I'm here for you, you know that.” Charles made some affirmative-sounding mumble and relaxed into his embrace.

            He decided then that he would be at Charles' bedside every morning after that, to soothe him when he woke. The first week or so, Charles woke up in a panic more often than not. Over time, he seemed to assimilate the memory better and it happened less and less often. Even so, Erik continued making sure to be there when he woke.


	24. Not actually a chapter

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> (status update)

Just to let any readers know - I haven't abandoned this story, it's just that my attention has been eaten by several other stories, some in this fandom, some elsewhere, so I haven't really been working on it.  
I don't know when I'll get back to it, but I do intend to, someday!


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